LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OP 
CALIFORNIA 
SAN  DIEGO 


*  !A  v- 


L4- 


LET  US  FOLLOW  HIM. 


'  He  rested  His  gaze  on  her  pale  suffering  face."— Page  67. 


Ue*w^yXL    '*£*&~JL^L**+-U±~/ 

Q      **  () 

Let  Us  Follow  Him 

AND  OTHER   STORIES 


By  the  Author  of 

QUO     VADIS 


TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  POLISH  BY 

Vatslaf  A.  Hlasko  &  Thos.  H.  Bullick 


NEW  YORK 

R.  F.  FENNO  &  COMPANY 

9  AND  ii  EAST  1 6-TH  STREET 


Copyright,  1897 

BY 
R.  F.  FENNO  &  COMPANY 


Let  Us  Follow  Him 


DEDICATION. 

This  little  book  is  dedicated  to  the  one  from 
whom  we  first  received  encouragement  in  our  work, 
and  whose  sympathy  and  assistance  has  enabled 
us  to  transform  a  passing  fancy  into  a  reality, 

V.  A.  H.  and  T.  H.  B. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

LET  Us  FOLLOW  HIM 9 

SlELANKA 87 

BE  BLESSED 129 

LIGHT  IN  DARKNESS 139 

ORSO.. 163 

MEMORIES  OF  MARIPOSA .217 


INTRODUCTION. 


"HE  who  would  bring  to  life  a  real 
work  of  art,"  says  Tolstoi,  "  must  possess 
these  three  things:  a  true,  moral  attitude 
toward  the  subject;  clear  expression,  or, 
what  is  the  same  thing,  beauty  of  form; 
and,  thirdly,  sincerity — unfeigned  love  or 
unfeigned  hatred  for  what  he  depicts." 

Faithfulness,  beauty,  sincerity:  add  to 
these  insight;  the  power  of  intending  the 
mind  on  things,  and  thus  discerning  in 
them  qualities  of  truth  and  joy  unseen 
by  others — and  we  have  a  standard  and 
measure  for  a  new  work  like  "  Quo  Vadis." 

A  true  moral  attitude  toward  his  sub- 
ject Sienkiewicz  certainly  has;  he  has  also 
great  vividness  and  beauty — the  power  of 
natural  magic,  that  makes  words  live. 


vi  Introduction. 

Perfect  sincerity — unfeigned  love  and  hate 
— none  can  deny  him;  yet  his  success  is 
due  rather  to  another  gift — that  power  to 
discern  new  qualities  of  truth  and  beauty, 
where  others,  looking  long,  have  not  seen 
them.  He  has  touched  with  new  light  the 
things  that  have  held  our  eyes  for  centuries 
— the  life  and  times  of  the  G-alilean  Teacher. 
The  return  of  art  to  early  Christian 
times  is  the  most  remarkable  spiritual  fact 
in  the  culture  of  the  modern  Slavs.  It  is  as 
earnest  and  universal  as  was  the  socialism 
of  the  last  generation,  with  its  Hertzens, 
its  Bakunins,  its  "Virgin  Soil,"  its  "  House 
of  Death."  The  Teuton  and  the  Slav  di- 
vide the  modern  world.  The  Teuton  is 
all  for  thought;  the  Slav,  for  feeling  and 
a  visible  outcome  in  conduct.  The  Teu- 
ton weaves  a  theory;  the  Slav,  a  revolu- 
tion, or — a  new  religion.  So  in  matters 
of  faith:  the  Teuton  seeks  to  discern  the 
truth  of  past  ages;  the  Slav,  to  follow  the 


Introduction.  vii 

truth  to-day.  The  Teuton  asks:  Did 
Jesus  teach  thus?  The  Slav  asks:  Can 
we  live  the  message  and  follow  Him? 

The  first  story  in  the  present  volume 
illustrates  this;  it  illustrates,  yet  more 
powerfully,  that  quality  of  insight  which 
we  have  found  in  Sienkiewicz;  that  power 
of  touching  the  old  and  familiar  with  a 
strangely  vivid  light.  Note  the  treatment 
of  Pilate;  the  urbanity  and  ripeness  of  the 
Roman  world,  and — its  futility;  very  fair 
and  beautiful — but  lacking  the  heart  of 
the  matter.  The  contrast  between  the 
two  worlds  is  strongly  dramatic;  it  is  the 
Last  Supper,  with  the  Banquet  of  the 
Satires  as  pendant. 

Slavonic  writers  love  to  begin  a  story 
with  the  wide,  sunlit  sky;  the  abounding 
whiteness  of  the  horizon;  the  vast  over- 
hanging firmament.  Under  that  limit- 
less light  human  life  loses  its  bitter  real' 
ism;  grows  soft  and  transparent,  and  at 


viii  Introduction. 

the  same  time  takes  on  a  hue  of  sadness 
and  fatalism — the  Nemesis  of  the  Greeks 
under  a  veil  of  Christian  resignation. 

The  first  quality — love  of  light  and  wide 
spaces  of  air — fills  Sienkiewicz's  tale,  "Sie- 
lanka" — an  idyl,  full  of  the  morning 
gladness  and  mystery  of  the  forests;  the 
second — sadness,  resignation,  the  mes- 
sage of  death — inspires  his  "Light  in 
Darkness. " 

The  fable  of  Valmiki  and  Krishna,  with 
the  lady  of  the  lotus,  shows  that  Sienkie- 
wicz  has  caught  the  light  of  the  Indian 
Eenaissance;  something  of  the  message  of 
that  marvelous  vanished  past,  that  glows 
with  the  sunset  splendor  of  an  older  world. 

Finally,  the  tale  of  the  circus  children 
brings  us  to  scenes  of  Sienkiewicz's  own 
life  in  California;  while  the  religious  spirit 
that  breathes  through  all  his  works  is  here 
too. 

The  Slavonic  school  are  quite  earnest  in 


Introduction.  ix 

their  endeavor  to  give  the  modern  world  a 
true  picture  of  the  Man  of  Sorrows;  yet 
their  sad  fatalism  does  not  satisfy  our 
wills.  There  is  humility — there  are  also 
power  and  valor,  and  we  yet  await  the 
message  of  the  Man  of  Joy. 

CHAELES  JOHNSTON. 


LET  US  FOLLOW  HIM. 


CHAPTER  I. 

CAIUS  SEPTIMUS  CLNNA  was  a  Roman 
patrician.  His  youth  was  spent  in  the 
hard  life  of  the  camp.  Later  he  returned 
to  Rome  to  enjoy  his  honors  and  to  spend, 
in  luxurious  living,  his  large  but  rapidly 
diminishing  fortune.  He  enjoyed  to  his 
full  bent  all  that  the  great  city  could  give 
him.  His  nights  were  spent  at  feasts  in 
magnificent  suburban  villas;  his  days  were 
passed  in  polemical  controversies  with  the 
lanists,  in  discussions  with  the  rhetors  at 
the  trepidaria,  where  they  had  debates  in- 
terspersed with  gossip  of  the  city  and  the 
world;  at  the  circuses,  at  the  races,  at  the 
fights  of  the  gladiators,  with  the  Thracian 
fortune-tellers,  and  with  the  wonderful 


10  Let  Us  Follow  Him. 

dancing  girls  brought  from  the  islands  of 
the  archipelago. 

Being  a  relative,  on  his  mother's  side, 
of  the  famous  Lucullus,  he  inherited  the 
tastes  of  an  epicure.  At  his  table  were 
served  Greek  wines,  oysters  from  Neapo- 
lis,  locusts  from  Numidia,  preserved  in 
honey  from  Pontus,  and  all  that  Rome 
possessed  he  obtained,  beginning  with  the 
fishes  from  the  Red  Sea,  to  the  white  birds 
from  the  banks  of  the  Boristenes.  He 
used  the  good  things  of  this  world  not 
only  as  a  soldier  who  boisterously  feasts, 
but  also  as  a  patrician  who  daintily  selects. 
He  persuaded  himself  to,  or  perhaps 
awakened  within  himself  an  admiration 
for  beautiful  things;  for  statues  excavated 
from  the  ruins  of  Corinth,  for  the  epi- 
lychnia  from  Attica,  for  Etruscan  vases 
or  those  brought  from  the  misty  Sericum, 
for  Roman  mosaics,  for  textile  fabrics 
from  the  vicinity  of  the  Euphrates,  for 


Let  Us  Follow  Him.  11 

Arabian  incense,  and  for  all  those  small 
objects  which  go  to  fill  up  the  emptiness 
of  patrician  life.  He  knew  how  to  speak 
of  them  as  a  connoisseur  with  the  older 
patricians  who  ornamented  their  bald 
heads  with  garlands  of  roses,  and  who 
chewed  heliotrope  after  their  feasts.  He 
felt  equally  the  beauty  of  the  periods  of 
Cicero,  of  the  verses  of  Horace  or  Ovid. 
Being  educated  by  an  Athenian  rhetor,  he 
spoke  Greek  fluently,  memorized  whole 
chapters  of  the  Iliad,  and  during  the 
feasts  would  sing  the  songs  of  Anacreon 
until  he  was  either  drunk  or  hoarse. 
Through  his  master  and  the  rhetors  he 
became  familiar  with  the  philosophies  to 
such  an  extent  that  he  understood  the 
architecture  of  the  different  mental  struct- 
ures reared  in  Hellas  and  the  Colonies;  he 
further  understood  that  they  were  lying 
in  ruing  He  knew  personally  a  great 
many  stoics  who  were  not  congenial  to 


12  Let  Us  Follow  Him. 

him  because  he  regarded  them  rather  as  a 
political  party,  and  also  as  tetrics  who  are 
opposed  to  the  joys  of  life.  The  skeptics 
were  often  seated  at  his  table,  where  be- 
tween courses  they  npset  whole  systems  of 
philosophy,  proclaiming,  by  the  craters 
filled  with  wine,  that  the  delights  of  life 
were  vanity,  that  truth  was  something 
unattainable,  that  absolute  quietude  was 
the  true  aim  of  all  sages. 

He  heard  all  this,  but  it  made  no  deep 
impression  on  him.  He  did  not  profess 
any  particular  principles,  and  did  not  care 
to  do  so.  He  looked  upon  life  as  upon 
the  sea,  where  the  wind  blew  as  it  pleased, 
and  wisdom  to  him  was  the  art  of  trim- 
ming his  sails.  Besides,  he  valued  the 
broad  shoulders  which  he  possessed,  his 
healthy  stomach,  his  handsome  Roman 
head,  with  its  strong  profile  and  mighty 
jaws;  with  these  he  felt  sure  he  could  pass 
safely  through  the  world. 


Let  Us  Follow  Him.  13 

Although  not  belonging  to  the  school 
of  the  skeptics  he  practically  was  a  skep- 
tic, and  also  a  hedonist,  though  he  knew 
that  luxury  was  not  happiness.  Being 
ignorant  of  the  true  teachings  of  Epicurus 
he  regarded  himself  as  an  epicurean. 
Generally  he  looked  upon  this  philosophy 
as  a  kind  of  mental  gymnastics  as  good  as 
that  taught  by  the  lanists.  When  he  was 
tired  of  debates  he  went  to  the  circus  to 
see  blood  flow  at  the  gladiatorial  contests. 

In  the  gods  he  did  not  believe,  nor  in 
virtue,  truth  or  happiness.  He  believed 
only  in  auguries;  he  had  his  superstitions, 
and  the  mysterious  faiths  of  the  orient 
aroused  his  curiosity.  He  was  of  the 
opinion  that  life  was  a  great  amphora, 
the  better  the  quality  of  the  wine  it  con- 
tained the  richer  it  looked,  so  he  was  try- 
ing to  fill  his  amphora  with  the  richest 
wine.  He  loved  no  one,  but  he  liked 
many  things,  and  amongst  them  his  mag- 


14  Let  Us  Follow  Him. 

nificent  head  and  his  handsome  patrician 
foot. 

In  the  first  years  of  his  elegantly  riotous 
leisure  he  was  ambitious  to  astonish  all 
Home,  and  he  succeeded  in  this  several 
times.  Later  he  became  indifferent  to 
such  conquests. 


CHAPTER  II. 

IN  the  end,  by  his  manner  of  living  he 
ruined  himself.  His  property  was  seized 
by  his  creditors  and  in  its  place  was  left 
to  Cinna  a  sense  of  great  weariness,  as  if 
exhausted  after  hard  labor,  satiety,  and 
one  more  very  unexpected  thing,  namely, 
a  feeling  of  deep  unrest.  Had  he  not  en- 
joyed riches,  love,  as  it  was  understood  by 
his  surrounding  world,  luxury,  the  glory 
of  war  and  military  honors,  dangers? 
Had  he  not  obtained  a  knowledge,  more 
or  less,  of  the  Circle  of  human  thought; 


Let  Us  Follow  Him.  15 

had  he  not  come  in  contact  with  poetry 
and  art?  Now  he  thought  that  he  had 
gleaned  from  life  all  that  it  had  to  give. 
Yet  he  had  the  feeling  that  something  had 
elnded  him  and  that  something  of  most 
importance.  He  knew  not  what  it  was, 
and  vainly  he  questioned  himself  and  tried 
to  solve  the  enigma.  Often  he  tried  to 
free  himself  from  these  obtruding  thoughts 
which  increased  his  restlessness;  he  tried 
to  convince  himself  that  life  contained 
nothing  more  than  that  which  he  had 
tasted,  but  his  restlessness  instead  of  de- 
creasing grew  to  such  an  extent  that  it 
seemed  to  him  that  he  was  not  only  dis- 
turbed on  his  own  behalf,  but  also  on  be- 
half of  all  Eome.  He  envied  the  skep- 
tics, at  the  same  time  condemning  them 
for  their  opinion  that  the  yearnings  of 
life  could  be  satisfied  with  vacuity.  In 
him  were  two  personalities:  one  of  which 


16  Let  Us  Follow  Him. 

seemed  to  be  astonished  at  his  restlessness 
and  the  other  recognized  its  justness. 

Shortly  after  the  loss  of  his  property, 
through  the  powerful  influence  of  his 
family,  Cinna  was  appointed  to  a  govern- 
ment post  at  Alexandria,  in  order  that  in 
this  rich  country  he  might  regain  his  for- 
tune. His  restlessness  embarked  with 
him  on  a  ship  at  Brundisium  and  was  his 
associate  during  the  sea  voyage.  In  Alex- 
andria Cinna  thought  that  his  govern- 
mental occupation,  meeting  with  new 
people,  another  world,  fresh  impressions, 
would  free  him  from  this  importunate  as- 
sociate, but  he  was  mistaken.  One  month 
passed — two — then  as  the  grain  of  Deme- 
tra  brought  from  Italy  waxed  stronger  in 
the  rich  soil  of  the  Delta,  so  this  restless- 
ness from  a  small  bush  grew  into  a  mighty 
cedar  tree,  and  threw  dark  and  darker 
shadows  on  Cinna's  soul. 

At  the  beginning  Cinna  tried  to  sup- 


Let  Us  Follow  Him.  17 

.press  this  feeling  by  indulging  in  the  same 
kind  of  life  that  he  had  led  in  Rome. 
Alexandria  was  a  luxurious  city,  full  of 
Greek  maidens  with  golden  hair  and  light 
complexions,  which  the  Egyptian  suns 
coated  with  amber-colored  transparent 
hues.  In  their  embraces  he  sought  sur- 
cease. 

Even  this  satiated  him,  and  he  began  to 
contemplate  suicide.  By  this  means  many 
of  his  friends  had  escaped  the  troubles  of 
life,  and  at  much  less  provocation  than 
Cinna's — often  from  ennui,  emptiness,  or 
for  absence  of  desire  for  further  enjoy- 
ments. A  slave,  holding  in  his  hand  a 
sword,  strongly  and  dexterously,  in  one 
moment  would  finish  all.  Cinna  was 
haunted  by  these  thoughts,  and  when  he 
had  nearly  decided  to  follow  their  beckon- 
ing, a  wonderful  dream  he  had  restrained 
him.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  cross- 
ing a  river  and  there  on  the  opposite  bank 


18  Let  Us  Follow  Him. 

was  his  restlessness  awaiting  him,  in  the 
form  of  an  emaciated  old  slave,  who  bowed 
low  before  him  and  said,  "  I  came  before 
yon  so  that  I  might  meet  you."  For  the 
first  time  in  his  life  Cinna  was  sore  afraid, 
because  he  understood  that  inasmuch  as  he 
could  not  think  of  a  future  life  without 
this  restlessness  they  would  be  there  to- 
gether. As  a  last  resort  he  decided  to 
approach  the  philosophers  who  swarmed 
in  the  Serapeum,  thinking  that  perhaps 
with  them  he  would  find  a  solution  of  the 
problem.  Truly  they  were  unable  to  an- 
swer him,  and  they  titled  him  "  ton  mou- 
seiou,"  which  title  they  often  gave  to  Ro- 
mans of  high  birth  and  station.  At  this 
time  it  was  very  little  consolation  to  him; 
the  stamp  of  wisdom  given  to  one  who 
was  unable  to  answer  a  most  vital  question 
seemed  to  Cinna  ironical.  Yet  he  thought 
the  Serapeum  might  unveil  its  wisdom 


Let  Us  Follow  Him.  19 

gradually,  and  he  did  not  entirely  lose 
hope. 

Most  active  among  the  philosophers  in 
Alexandria  was  noble  Timon  the  Athen- 
ian, a  man  of  great  wealth  and  a  Koman 
citizen.  He  had  lived  over  a  decade  in 
Alexandria,  where  he  came  to  study  the 
mysterious  Egyptian  sciences.  It  was  said 
of  him  that  there  was  not  a  manuscript  or 
papyrus  in  the  Biblioteka  which  he  had 
not  read,  and  that  he  was  possessed  of  all 
human  wisdom.  He  was  a  man  of  pleas- 
ant and  reasonable  temperament.  Out  of 
a  multitude  of  pedants  and  small  com- 
mentators Cinna  at  once  recognized  his 
worth  and  associated  with  him,  which  re- 
lation after  a  time  ripened  into  a  near 
intimacy  and  even  friendship.  The  young 
Roman  admired  his  skill  in  dialectics,  the 
eloquence  and  logic  with  which  the  old 
man  spoke  of  the  sublime  things  pertain- 
ing to  the  destiny  of  mankind  and  the 


20  Let  Us  Follow  Him. 

world.  It  appeared  to  him  as  if  his  logic 
were  combined  with  a  certain  melancholy. 
Later,  when  their  relations  had  become 
closer,  Cinna  often  desired  to  inquire  of 
the  old  man  the  cause  of  this  melancholy 
and  at  the  same  time  to  open  his  heart  to 
him.  Somehow  in  the  end  he  came  to  it. 
One  evening,  after  a  heated  discussion 
on  the  question  of  the  transmigration  of 
souls,  they  remained  alone  on  a  terrace 
overlooking  the  sea,  and  Cinna,  taking 
Timon  by  the  hand,  openly  confessed  to 
him  the  great  torture  of  his  life  and  the 
cause  that  led  him  to  seek  near  relations 
with  the  scientists  and  philosophers  of  the 
Serapeum:  "At  last  I  have  gained  this 
much,"  he  said  in  the  end;  "I  have  got 
to  know  thee,  Timon,  and  now  I  am  sure 
if  thou  canst  not  solve  the  problem  of  my 
life,  no  one  else  can."  Timon,  who  had 
been  watching  the  reflection  of  the  new 


Let  Us  Follow  Him.  21 

moon  on  the  smooth  surface  of  the  sea, 
said  : 

"  Dost  thou  see,  oh,  Cinna,  the  flocks  of 
birds  which  come  from  the  dreary  north, 
dost  thou  know  what  they  seek  in 
Egypt?" 

"I  know  they  seek  warmth  and  light." 

"  The  human  soul  also  seeks  warmth, 
which  is  love,  and  tight,  which  is  truth. 
But  the  birds  know  where  to  fly  for  their 
good;  human  souls  fly  in  the  desert,  are 
astray,  restless,  and  melancholy." 

"  Noble  Timon,  why  can  they  not  find 
the  way?" 

"  Formerly  people  found  peace  and  rest 
in  the  gods,  but  now  faith  in  the  gods  is 
burned  out  like  the  oil  in  the  lamp. 
Later  they  thought  that  philosophy  would 
be  the  sun  of  truth  for  human  souls — to- 
day, as  you  know  best  yourself,  on  its 
ruins  in  Rome,  in  the  academy  at  Athens, 
and  here,  sit  the  skeptics,  and  it  seems  to 


22  Let  Us  Follow  Him. 

them  that  they  have  brought  peace,  but 
they  have  brought  only  unrest.  For  to 
renounce  the  warmth  and  light  is  to  leave 
the  soul  in  darkness,  which  is  restlessness. 
So  with  outstretched  hands  we  gropingly 
seek  the  exit." 

"Have  you  found  it  yourself ?" 

"  I  sought  and  did  not  find  it.  Thou 
soughtest  it  in  luxury,  I  in  meditation, 
and  both  of  us  are  surrounded  with  dark- 
ness. Know,  therefore,  that  not  only 
thon  sufferest,  but  that  in  thee  suffers 
the  soul  of  the  whole  world.  No  doubt, 
long  ago  thou  didst  cease  to  believe  in  the 
gods/' 

"  In  Home  they  worship  the  gods  still 
publicly,  and  even  get  new  ones  from 
Asia  and  Egypt,  but  perhaps  only  the 
vegetable  venders,  who  in  the  morning 
come  from  the  country  to  the  city,  believe 
sincerely  in  them." 

"And  they  alone  are  peaceful." 


Let  Us  Follow  Him.  23 

"Just  as  they  who  here  bow  to  cats 
and  onions." 

"Just  as  the  animals  who  after  gorging 
themselves  desire  sleep. " 

"  In  such  a  case  is  life  worth  living?" 

"  Do  you  know  where  death  will  bring 
us?" 

"So  what  is  the  difference  between  the 
skeptics  and  you?" 

"  Skeptics  accept  the  darkness  or  they 
pretend  to  accept,  while  I  am  tortured  in 
it." 

"And  you  see  no  salvation?" 

Timon  remained  silent  for  a  time,  then 
answered  slowly  and  with  a  certain  hesi- 
tation. "  I  wait  for  it." 

"  Where  from?" 

"  I  do  not  know." 

He  leaned  his  head  upon  his  hand,  and 
as  influenced  by  the  silence  that  reigned 
upon  the  terrace,  he  began  to  speak  in  a 
low,  gentle  voice: 


24  Let  Us  Follow  Him. 

"  It  is  a  wonderful  thing  and  it  seems 
to  me  sometimes  that  if  the  world  had 
contained  nothing  more  than  that  which 
we  now  know,  and  if  we  could  be  noth- 
ing more  than  that  which  we  now  are,  rest- 
lessness would  not  be  in  us.  Thus  in  sick- 
ness we  have  the  hope  of  health.  The 
faith  in  Olympus  and  philosophy  is  dead, 
but  the  health  is  perhaps  some  new  truth 
which  I  know  not. 


Contrary  to  his  expectation,  to  Cinna 
this  conversation  brought  great  relief. 
Learning  that  not  only  he,  but  the  whole 
world,  was  weighed  down  with  sin  and 
sorrow,  he  experienced  the  feeling  as  if  a 
heavy  load  was  taken  from  his  shoulders 
and  shared  by  thousands  of  others. 


Let  Us  Follow  Him.  25 

CHAPTER  III. 

SINCE  then  the  friendship  between 
Cinna  and  the  old  Greek  became  closer. 
They  visited  each  other  more  frequently 
and  shared  their  thoughts  as  bread  is 
divided  at  a  feast.  Although  Cinna  felt 
that  sense  of  weariness  which  always  fol- 
lows enjoyment,  still  he  was  too  young  a 
man  for  life  to  lose  all  its  attractions,  and 
such  an  attraction  he  found  in  Anthea, 
the  only  daughter  of  Timon. 

Her  fame  in  Alexandria  was  not  less 
than  that  of  her  father.  She  was  adored 
by  honorable  Romans,  who  visited  the 
house  of  Timon.  She  was  adored  by  the 
Greeks,  she  was  adored  by  the  philoso- 
phers of  the  Serapeum,  and  she  was 
adored  by  the  people.  Timon  did  not 
shut  her  up  in  the  gynaceum  as  other 
women  were  confined,  and  he  carefully 
instructed  her  in  all  his  knowledge. 


26  Let  Us  Follow  Him. 

When  she  had  passed  her  childhood  he 
read  with  her  Greek  books,  and  even 
Roman  and  Hebrew;  being  gifted  with  an 
extraordinary  memory,  and  reared  in 
polyglot  Alexandria,  she  had  learned  to 
speak  these  languages  fluently.  She  was 
his  companion  in  his  thoughts,  often 
took  part  in  discussions,  which  in  the 
time  of  the  Symposiums  took  place  in  the 
house  of  Timon,  often  in  the  labyrinth  of 
difficult  problems,  she  never  lost  herself, 
and  like  Ariadne,  she  safely  led  out  others. 
Her  father  regarded  her  with  great  admi- 
ration and  honor.  Besides,  she  was  sur- 
rounded by  a  mysterious  enchantment 
verging  on  holiness,  for  the  reason  that 
she  had  prophetic  dreams  and  visions  in 
which  she  saw  things  invisible  to  the  eyes 
of  mortals.  The  old  sage  loved  her  as  his 
own  soul,  and  for  that  reason  he  was 
afraid  to  lose  her,  because  she  often  said 
that  in  her  dreams  appeared  some  malig- 


Let  Us  Follow  Him.  27 

nant  spirits  and  a  wondrous  light.  She 
knew  not  whether  it  were  the  fountain  of 
life  or  death. 

Meanwhile  she  was  surrounded  by  love. 
Egyptians  who  visited  the  house  of  Timon 
called  her  Lotus,  because  that  flower  was 
worshipped  on  the  banks  of  the  Nile,  or 
perhaps  because  he  who  saw  her  once 
might  forget  the  whole  world. 

Her  beauty  was  equal  to  her  wisdom. 
Egyptian  suns  had  not  bronzed  her  face, 
in  which  the  rosy  rays  of  dawn  seemed  to 
be  inclosed  in  the  transparency  of  a 
pearly  shell;  her  eyes  were  as  blue  as  the 
Nile,  and  her  glances  seemed  to  come 
from  distances  as  unknown  as  do  the 
waters  of  this  mysterious  river.  "When 
Cinna  saw  and  heard  her  the  first  time,  on 
returning  to  his  home,  he  felt  inclined  to 
rear  an  altar  to  her  honor  in  the  atrium 
of  his  house,  and  sacrifice  on  it  white 
doves.  He  had  met  in  his  life  thousands 


28  Let  Us  Follow  Him. 

of  women,  beginning  from  the  maidens  of 
the  far  north,  with  white  eyelashes  and 
hair  of  the  color  of  ripened  corn,  to 
Numidians,  black  as  lava,  but  until  now 
he  had  never  met  such  a  form,  nor  such  a 
soul.  The  more  he  saw  of  her,  the  better 
he  knew  her;  the  more  he  heard  her 
speak,  the  greater  grew  his  astonished  ad- 
miration. Sometimes  he  who  did  not 
believe  in  the  gods  thought  that  Anthea 
could  not  be  the  daughter  of  Timon,  but 
of  some  god,  and  that  she  was  half  a  woman 
and  half  an  immortal. 

Soon  Cinna  found  that  he  loved  her 
with  a  great  and  unconquerable  love,  as 
different  from  any  feeling  awakened 
before  as  Aiithea  was  different  from  all 
other  women.  He  wanted  to  possess  her 
only  to  worship  her.  For  this  he  was 
ready  to  give  his  life.  He  felt  that  he 
would  rather  be  a  pauper  with  her  than 
Caesar  without  her.  And  as  the  vortex  of 


Let  Us  Follow  Him.  29 

an  ocean  whirlpool  eugnlf s  with  its  irresist- 
ible power  all  that  approaches  its  circle, 
so  Cinna's  love  absorbed  his  soul,  heart, 
thoughts;  his  days,  nights,  and  all  that 
composed  his  life. 

At  last  this  great  love  engulfed 
Anthea. 

"Tu  felix,  Cinna,"  said  his  friends  to 
him.  "  Tu  felix,  Cinna"  he  repeated  to 
himself.  And  when  at  last  he  wedded 
her,  and  her  divine  lips  had  uttered  the 
sacramental  words:  "Where  thou  art, 
Caius,  there  am  I,  Caia,"  then  it  seemed 
to  him  that  his  happiness  would  be  as  an 
inexhaustible  and  limitless  sea. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A  YEAR  passed  and  the  young  wife  con 
tinued  to  receive  honor  and  homage  as  it 
accorded  to  one  divine.     She  was  to  her 
husband  as  the  apple  of  his  eye,  love. 


30  Let  Us  Follow  Him. 

wisdom,  light.  But  Cinna  comparing  his 
happiness  to  the  sea  forgot  that  the  sea 
ebbs  and  flows.  After  a  year  Anthea  was 
afflicted  with  a  cruel  and  unknown  dis- 
ease. Her  dreams  changed  into  terrible 
visions  which  exhausted  her  life.  In  her 
face  died  out  the  light  of  dawn  and  there 
only  remained  the  transparency  of  the 
pearly  shells:  her  hands  became  translu- 
cent, her  eyes  sank  away,  and  the  rosy 
lotus  became  as  white  as  a  marble  statue. 
It  was  observed  that  the  buzzards  hovered 
over  Cinna's  house,  which  was  considered 
an  omen  of  death  in  Egypt.  Her  terrify- 
ing visions  increased.  When  in  the  mid- 
day hours  the  sun  flooded  the  world  with 
its  brilliant  whiteness  and  the  city  was 
submerged  in  silence,  it  appeared  to  An- 
thea that  she  heard  around  herself  the 
quick  steps  of  some  invisible  beings,  and 
that  in  the  depths  of  the  air  she  saw  a  dry, 
yellow,  corpse-like  face,  looking  on  her 


"  Save  me,  Caius  !    Defend  me  ! "— Page  31. 


Let  Us  Follow  Him.  31 

with  its  black  eyes.  Those  eyes  looked 
into  hers  piercingly,  as  if  calling  her  to 
follow  it  somewhere  into  gloomy  darkness, 
full  of  mystery  and  terror.  Then  Anthea's 
body  began  to  tremble,  as  if  in  a  fever, 
her  forehead  was  covered  with  pallor  and 
drops  of  cold  sweat,  and  this  worshipped 
priestess  of  the  fireside  was  changing  into 
a  defenseless  and  frightened  child,  who, 
hiding  herself  on  the  breast  of  her  hus- 
band, repeated  with  whitened  lips,  "  Save 
me,  Caius  !  defend  me  !" 

Caius  was  ready  to  fight  every  specter 
from  the  subterranean  caves  of  Proser- 
pine, but  vainly  his  eyes  searched  space. 
As  usual  at  the  noon  hour  the  place  was 
deserted.  The  white  light  flooded  the  city; 
the  sea  seemed  to  burn  in  the  sun,  and 
in  the  silence  was  only  heard  the  cry  of 
the  buzzards,  circling  over  the  house. 

The  visions  became  more  frequent,  then 
they  occurred  daily.  They  persecuted 


32  Let  Us  Follow  Him. 

Anthea  no  less  outside  of  the  house  than 
they  did  in  the  atrium  and  living  rooms. 
China,  by  the  advice  of  physicians, 
brought  Egyptian  Sambucins  and  Be- 
douins to  play  on  porcelain  flutes,  so  that 
their  noisy  music  might  drown  the  voices 
of  the  invisible  beings.  But  this  was  of 
no  avail.  Anthea  heard  these  voices  in 
the  midst  of  the  greatest  noise,  and  when 
the  sun  was  so  high  in  the  heavens  that 
shadows  lay  around  the  feet  as  a  robe 
dropped  from  the  shoulders,  there  in  the 
heated,  trembling  air  appeared  the  corpse- 
like  face  gazing  on  Anthea  with  its  beady 
eyes  receding  slowly,  as  if  saying  "follow 
me." 

Sometimes  it  seemed  to  Anthea  as  if  the 
lips  of  the  corpse  moved  slowly.  Some- 
times it  seemed  that  there  issued  from 
them  black,  repulsive  beetles,  which  flew 
to  her  through  the  air.  The  very  memory 
of  this  vision  filled  her  eyes  with  terror, 


Let  Us  Follow  Him.  33 

and  in  the  end  her  life  became  so  frightful 
a  torture  that  she  implored  Cinna  to  hold 
his  sword  so  that  she  might  kill  herself,  or 
that  he  would  let  her  partake  of  poison. 

This  he  knew  he  could  not  do.  He  was 
willing  with  his  sword  to  let  out  his  own 
life's  blood,  but  kill  her  he  could  not. 
When  he  imagined  her  dead  face,  with 
closed  eyelids,  pale  with  the  cold  quietude 
of  death  and  her  breast  torn  with  his 
sword,  he  felt  that  to  do  so  he  must  first 
become  mad. 

A  certain  Greek  physician  said  to  him 
that  it  was  Hecate  who  appeared  to  An- 
thea,  and  that  those  invisible  beings  whose 
rustlings  terrified  the  patient  belonged  to 
the  band  of  that  baneful  divinity.  Ac- 
cording to  him  there  was  no  helt)  for 
Anthea,  since  all  those  who  saw  Hecate 
must  die. 

Then  Cinna,  who  not  long  ago  would 
have  sneered  at  a  belief  in  Hecate,  offered 


34:  Let  Us  Follow  Him. 

to  this  goddess  sacrifices  of  a  hecatomb. 
But  the  offering  availed  not,  and  the  next 
day  the  spectral  eyes  gazed  at  Anthea. 

They  tried  to  veil  her  head,  but  she  saw 
the  corpse-like  face  even  through  the 
thickest  covering.  When  she  was  confined 
in  a  darkened  room  the  face  looked  upon 
her  from  the  walls,  dispelling  the  darkness 
with  a  pale,  ghost-like  phosphorescence. 
In  the  evening-tide  the  patient  felt  better. 
Then  she  lapsed  into  such  a  profound 
sleep  that  it  seemed  to  both  Cinna  and 
Timon  that  she  would  never  awaken 
again.  Soon  she  got  so  weak  that  she 
could  not  walk  unassisted.  They  carried 
her  in  a  litter. 

The  old  restlessness  of  Cinna  returned 
again  with  a  hundred-fold  force,  and  com- 
pletely took  possession  of  him.  There 
was  in  him  a  great  fear  for  Anthea's  life, 
and  a  strange  feeling  that  somehow,  in 
some  way,  her  sickness  had  a  mysterious 


Let  Us  Follow  Him.  35 

relation  to  those  unsolvable  problems 
which  he  had  discussed  with  Timon  in 
their  first  serious  conversation.  It  may 
have  been  that  the  old  sage  thought  like- 
wise, but  Cinna  did  not  wish  and  was 
afraid  to  question  him  about  it.  Mean- 
while the  patient  was  fading  like  a  flower 
in  whose  cup  nestles  the  poisonous  spider. 

Cinna,  battling  with  despair,  yet  tried 
all  means  to  save  her.  First,  he  carried 
her  to  the  plains  in  the  vicinity  of  Mem- 
phis, but  when  the  deep  silence  of  the 
pyramids  did  not  relieve  her,  he  returned 
to  Alexandria  and  surrounded  her  with 
fortune-tellers  and  magicians,  soothsayers 
and  a  motley  crowd  of  pretenders,  who 
duped  credulous  people  with  their  so-called 
miraculous  medicine.  He  had  no  choice 
and  grasped  every  means  in  sight. 

At  this  time  there  arrived  in  Alexandria 
from  Caesarea  a  famous  Jewish  physician 
by  the  name  of  Joseph,  son  of  Khuza. 


36  Let  Us  Follow  Him. 

Cinna  brought  him  at  once  to  his  wife, 
and  for  a  moment  hope  returned  to  his 
heart.  Joseph,  who  did  not  believe  in  the 
Greek  and  Komau  gods,  discarded  with 
derision  every  thought  of  Hecate.  He 
contended  that  it  was  demons  that  pos- 
sessed the  patient  and  advised  them  to 
leave  Egypt,  where,  beside  demons,  the 
miasma  of  the  swampy  Delta  impaired  her 
health.  He  advised  also,  perhaps  for  the 
reason  that  he  was  a  Jew,  that  they  should 
go  to  Jerusalem  as  a  city  to  which  demons 
have  no  access,  and  where  the  air  is  dry 
and  healthy. 

Cinna  still  more  willingly  followed  this 
advice,  first,  because  he  had  no  other  ad- 
vice to  follow,  and  secondly,  that  over  Je- 
rusalem ruled  a  Procurator  who  was  known 
to  him,  and  whose  ancestors  in  the  olden 
times  had  been  clients  of  the  house  of 
Cinna. 

When  they  arrived  in  Jerusalem,  Pro- 


Let  Us  Follow  Him.  37 

curator  Pontius  Pilate  received  them  with 
great  hospitality,  presented  them  his  sum- 
mer villa,  near  the  walls  of  the  city,  in 
which  to  reside.  Even  before  his  arrival 
the  hope  of  Cinna  was  shattered.  The 
corpse-like  face  looked  on  Anthea  even  on 
the  deck  of  the  ship,  and  after  their  arri- 
val at  their  destination  the  patient  awaited 
the  noon  hour  with  the  same  deadly  fear 
as  previously  in  Alexandria. 

Thus  their  days  were  passed  with  feel- 
ings of  oppression,  fear,  despair,  and  ex- 
pectation of  death. 


CHAPTER  V. 

IN"  the  atrium,  despite  the  fountain  near 
by,  the  shady  portico  and  the  early  hour, 
it  was  intensely  hot;  the  marble  radiated 
the  heat  of  the  vernal  sun,  and  close  by 
the  house  grew  an  old  and  large  pistachio 
tree,  which  threw  its  shade  over  a  great 


38  Let  Us  Follow  Him. 

space.  The  breeze  played  in  the  open 
space,  and  Cinna  commanded  a  chair, 
decked  with  hyacinths  and  apple  blossoms, 
to  be  placed  under  the  tree  for  Anthea. 
Then  seating  himself  by  her  side  he  placed 
his  palm  on  her  white  and  wasted  hand, 
and  said: 

"  Is  it  good  for  thee  here,  Carissima  ?" 

"  It  is  good/'  answered  she  in  a  faint 
voice. 

She  closed  her  eyes  as  if  sleeping  gen- 
tly. Silence  ensued  :  the  breeze  sighed 
through  the  branches  of  the  pistachio  tree 
and  on  the  ground  around  the  chair  played 
golden  circlets  of  light  falling  through  the 
leaves,  and  the  locusts  chirped  in  the 
crevices  of  the  stones. 

Shortly  the  patient  opened  her  eyes. 
"  Caius,"  she  said,  "  is  it  true  that  in  this 
land  appeared  a  philosopher  who  healed 
the  sick?" 

"  Here  they  call  this  one  a  prophet,* 


Let  Us  Follow  Him.  39 

answered  China.  "I  have  heard  of  him 
and  intended  to  call  him  to  thee,  but  it 
appears  that  he  was  a  false  miracle-worker. 
Besides  he  blasphemed  against  the  temple 
and  the  law  of  the  land,  therefore  Pilate 
gave  him  up  to  death,  and  to-day  he  will 
be  crucified/' 

Anthea  bowed  her  head. 

"  Time  will  heal  thee,"  said  Ulnna,  see- 
ing her  sorrow,  which  was  reflected  on  his 
face. 

"Time  is  in  the  service  of  death,  not 
life/'  answered  she  slowly. 

Again  silence  ensued;  around  her  con- 
stantly played  the  golden  circlets;  the  lo- 
custs chirped  still  louder,  and  from  the 
crevices  of  the  rocks  glided  small  lizards 
and  chameleons  seeking  sunny  spots. 

Cinna's  glance  rested  tenderly  on  An- 
thea and  for  the  thousandth  time  despair- 
ing thoughts  passed  through  his  mind, 
that  all  means  of  help  were  exhausted, 


40  Let  Us  Follow  Him. 

that  not  a  spark  of  hope  remained,  and 
that  soon  this  loved  form  would  become 
only  a  fleeting  shadow  and  a  handful  of 
dust  inurned  in  a  columbarium. 

Keclining  there  in  the  blossom-bedecked 
chair  she  looked  as  if  death  had  called  her 
his  own. 

"  I  will  follow  thee,  too,"  thought  Cinna. 

Suddenly  was  heard  the  sound  of  ap- 
proaching footsteps.  Anthea's  face  be- 
came at  once  deadly  white,  her  half-parted 
lips  breathed  convulsively,  her  breast 
heaved  quickly — the  unhappy  martyr  felt 
that  it  was  the  band  of  her  invisible  tor- 
mentors which  always  heralded  the  appear- 
ance of  the  hideous  corpse  with  the  horri- 
ble glaring  eyes.  But  Cinna,  taking  her 
hand,  reassured  her,  saying: 

"Anthea,  fear  not.  I  also  hear  the 
footsteps." 

Shortly  he  added: 

"This  is  Pontius,  coming  to  visit  ns." 


Let  Us  Follow  Him.  41 

And  truly  there  appeared  in  a  bend  of 
the  path  the  Procurator,  accompanied  by 
two  slaves.  He  was  not  a  young  man. 
He  had  a  round,  carefully  shaven  face, 
which  showed  an  assumption  of  authority 
commingled  with  an  air  of  weariness. 

"  I  salute  thee,  noble  Cinna,  and  thee, 
divine  Anthea  !"  said  he,  entering  under 
the  shade  of  the  pistachio.  " After  the 
cool  night  the  day  is  now  warm.  Oh,  that 
it  would  be  fortunate  to  you  both  that  the 
health  of  Anthea  would  blossom  as  the 
hyacinths  and  apple  buds  that  adorn  her 
chair." 

"  Peace  to  thee,  and  welcome, "  answered 
Cinna. 

The  Procurator,  seating  himself  upon  a 
fragment  of  rock,  looked  at  Anthea  anx- 
iously and  said : 

"  Loneliness  gives  birth  to  melancholy 
and  sickness,  and  in  the  midst  of  crowds 
one  cannot  be  afraid,  so  I  will  give  thee 


42  Let  Us  Follow  Him. 

counsel.  To  our  misfortune  this  is  neither 
Antioch  nor  Caesarea,  there  are  no  gladia- 
torial contests  or  races,  and  if  a  circus 
should  appear  these  fanatics  would  tear  it 
to  pieces  the  second  day.  Here  you  hear 
only  the  one  word,  'law/  and  this  'law' 
opposes  everything.  I  would  rather  be  in 
Scythia  than  here." 

"What  speaketh  thou  about,  Pilate?" 
"  True  it  is,  I  wandered  away  from  the 
subject.  But  my  troubles  are  the  cause 
of  it.  I  said  that  in  the  midst  of  crowds 
there  was  no  place  for  fear.  To-day  you 
have  a  chance  of  witnessing  a  sight.  In 
Jerusalem  we  should  be  satisfied  with  that 
which  we  can  get,  and  above  all  it  is  nec- 
essary that  at  noon-time  Anthea  should  be 
amidst  the  crowd.  To-day  will  die  on  the 
cross  three  men.  It  is  better  to  see  this 
than  nothing.  Besides,  on  account  of  the 
Passover,  there  has  gathered  in  the  city  a 
strange,  grotesque  crowd  of  religious  fa- 


Let  Us  Follow  Him.  43 

natics  from  all  over  the  country;  you  can 
observe  them.  I  will  order  a  good  posi- 
tion reserved  for  you  near  the  crosses.  I 
hope  the  condemned  men  will  die  bravely. 
One  of  them  is  a  strange  Character :  he 
says  he  is  the  Son  of  God.  He  is  sweet 
as  a  dove,  and  truly  has  done  nothing  for 
which  he  could  deserve  death." 

"And  thou  condemuedst  him  to  the 
cross ?" 

"I  wished  to  drop  trouble  from  my 
hands,  and  at  the  same  time  not  to  arouse 
the  nest  of  hornets  that  swarmed  around 
the  temple.  They  are  sending  complaints 
to  Rome  about  me  anyway.  Besides,  why 
bother  about  one  who  is  not  a  Roman 
citizen?" 

"  He  will  not  suffer  the  less  on  that 
account." 

The  Procurator  did  not  answer  and 
shortly  began  to  speak,  as  if  to  himself : 
•'*  There  is  one  thing  I  do  not  like;  that  is, 


44  Let  Us  Follow  Him. 

extremism.  When  this  is  proclaimed  to 
me  it  robs  me  of  my  pleasure  for  the  whole 
day.  The  golden  mean,  according  to  my 
opinion,  is  what  common-sense  commands 
us  to  observe.  There  is  no  place  in  the 
world  where  this  principle  is  more  neg- 
lected than  here.  Oh,  how  all  this  tortures 
me!  Oh,  how  it  tortures  me!  There  is  no 
quietness,  no  equilibrium,  either  in  man 
or  nature;  for  instance,  now  it  is  spring, 
the  nights  are  cold,  and  in  the  daytime  it  is 
so  hot  that  one  cannot  walk  on  the  stones. 
Noon  is  far  off — look  how  it  is!  And  as 
for  people — let  us  not  speak  of  them!  I 
am  here  since  I  cannot  help  it — why  speak 
of  it?  I  would  again  wander  from  the 
subject.  Go  and  see  the  crucifixion*  I  am 
sure  that  this  Nazarene  will  die  bravely. 
I  ordered  him  scourged,  thinking  by  this 
to  save  him  from  death.  I  am  not  a  cruel 
man.  When  he  was  scourged  he  was  as 
patient  as  a  lamb  and  blessed  the  people. 


Let  Us  Follow  Him.  45 

vfhen  his  blood  was  dripping  he  lifted 
his  eyes  upward  and  prayed.  He  is  the 
most  wonderful  man  I  have  seen  in  my 
life.  On  his  account  my  wife  did  not  give 
me  any  peace  or  one  moment's  rest.  '  Do 
not  let  the  innocent  die/  from  the  early 
dawn  she  constantly  said.  I  wished  to 
save  him.  Twice  I  climbed  the  Bima  and 
addressed  the  fanatical  priests  and  this 
unclean  crowd.  They  clamored  with  one 
voice,  throwing  back  their  heads  and 
opening  wide  their  mouths,  '  Crucify  him! 
Crucify  him  V" 

"And  thou  didst  yield?"  said  Cinna. 

"  Because  in  the  city  would  have  oc- 
curred turbulent  riots,  and  I  am  placed 
here  to  preserve  the  peace.  I  must  do 
my  duty.  I  do  not  like  excesses,  and  be- 
sides I  am  very  tired;  but  when  I  once  de- 
cide to  do  something  I  do  not  hesitate  to 
sacrifice,  for  the  general  good,  the  life  of 
one  man,  especially  if  he  is  an  unknown 


46  Let  Us  Follow  Him. 

man  about  whom  none  will  inquire.  It 
is  bad  for  him  that  he  is  not  a  Eoman 
citizen." 

"  The  sun  shines  not  over  Rome  alone, " 
whispered  Anthea. 

"  Divine  Anthea/'  replied  the  Procura- 
tor, "I  would  answer  thee  that  over  this 
whole  earth  the  sun  shines  on  the  Roman 
Empire,  and  for  its  good  it  behooves  us  to 
sacrifice  all,  and  riots  undermine  our  dig- 
nity. But  before  all  I  pray  thee,  do  not 
ask  from  me  that  I  change  my  decree. 
Cinna  will  tell  thee  also  that  it  cannot  be, 
and  when  a  decree  is  once  promulgated 
Csesar  alone  could  change  it.  Even  if  I 
desired  I  could  not.  Is  not  that  the  truth, 
Caius?" 

"  It  is  so." 

To  Anthea  these  words  caused  a  visible 
agitation,  and  she  said,  thinking  perhaps 
of  herself : 


Let  Us  Follow  Him.  47 

"  So,  then,  it  is  possible  to  suffer  and 
die  without  guilt." 

"  No  one  is  without  guilt,"  answered 
Pontius.  "  This  Nazarene  did  not  com- 
mit any  crime,  therefore  as  Procurator  I 
washed  my  hands.  But  as  a  man  I  con- 
demned his  doctrine.  For  a  purpose,  I 
conversed  with  him  freely,  desiring  to 
examine  him,  and  I  was  convinced  he 
proclaimed  unheard-of  things.  It  is  dif- 
ficult! The  world  must  rest  on  cool  rea- 
son. Who  denies  that  virtue  is  needed  ? 
Certainly  not  I.  But  only  the  stoics  teach 
us  to  bear  adversity  with  serenity,'  and 
they  do  not  require  us  to  renounce  every- 
thing from  our  estates  to  our  dinner. 
China,  thou  art  a  reasonable  man,  what 
wouldst  thou  think  of  me  if  I  should  give 
this  house  in  which  thou  livest  to  the  rag- 
ged beggars  who  sun  themselves  at  the 
city  gates?  And  this  is  what  he  requires. 
Again  he  says  that  we  should  love  all  peo- 


48  Let  Us  Follow  Him. 

pie  equally:  Jews  the  same  as  Komans, 
Eomans  as  Egyptians,  Egyptians  as  Afri- 
cans. I  confess  I  have  had  enough  of  it. 
At  the  critical  time  when  I  spoke  with 
him  he  did  not  seem  concerned  about  his 
life,  but  he  behaved  as  if  the  question 
concerned  some  one  else;  he  was  preach- 
ing and  praying.  I  am  not  called  upon  to 
save  a  man  who  cares  little  to  save  him- 
self. Then,  he  calls  himself  the  Son  of 
God,  and  destroys  the  foundation  upon 
which  the  world  rests,  and  therefore  harms 
men.  Let  him  think  what  he  pleases  in 
his  own  mind,  but  not  destroy.  As  a  man 
I  protest  against  his  doctrine.  If  I  do 
not  believe,  for  instance,  in  the  gods,  'tis 
my  affair.  Yet,  I  acknowledge  the  need 
of  religion,  and  announce  it  publicly, 
since  I  recognize  that  religion  for  the  peo' 
pie  is  a  bridle.  The  horses  must  be 
securely  fastened.  Besides,  to  this  Naza- 


Let  Us  Follow  Him.  49 

rene  death  should  have  no  terrors,  for  he 
affirms  that  he  will  rise  from  the  dead." 

Cinna  and  Anthea  looked  at  each  other 
with  astonishment. 

"That  he  will  arise  from  the  dead?" 

"  No  more,  no  less :  after  three  days. 
So  at  least  announce  his  disciples.  I  for- 
got to  ask  him.  That  is  of  little  conse- 
quence, as  death  frees  us  from  all  prom- 
ises. Even  if  he  does  not  arise  from  the 
dead  he  will  lose  nothing,  for  according  to 
his  teachings  true  happiness,  together 
with  life  eternal,  begins  only  after  death. 
He  really  speaks  of  it  as  one  who  is  cer- 
tain. His  hades  is  more  bright  than  our 
sunny  world,  and  the  more  one  suffers 
here  the  more  surely  he  will  enter  there; 
he  must  only  love,  love,  and  love." 

"  A  wonderful  doctrine,"  said  An- 
thea. 

"  And  they  clamored  to  thee,  '  Crucify 
him?*"  queried  Cinna. 


/O  Let  Us  Follow  Him. 

"I  even  do  not  wonder  hatred  is  the 
soul  of  these  people.  What  then,  if  not 
hatred,  would  clamor  for  the  cross,  for 
love?" 

Anthea  placed  her  wasted  hand  upon 
her  forehead. 

"  And  is  he  sure  that  we  will  live  and 
be  happy — after  death  ?" 

"  On  this  account  neither  the  cross  nor 
death  affrights  him." 

"  How  good  that  would  be,  Cinna." 

Shortly  she  asked  again: 

"  How  does  he  know  all  this?" 

The  Procurator,  making  a  dissenting 
gesture  with  his  hand,  answered: 

"He  says  that  he  knows  it  from  the 
Father  of  all  men,  which  is  for  the  Jews 
the  same  as  Jupiter  is  to  us,  with  this  dif- 
ference, according  to  the  Nazarene,  that 
he  is  One  alone  and  all  merciful." 

"How  good  that  would  be,  Caius,"  re- 
peated the  patient. 


Let  Us  Follow  Him.  51 

Cinna  opened  his  lips  as  if  he  would 
speak,  but  remained  silent,  and  the  con- 
versation ceased. 

Pontius  evidently  meditated  further  on 
the  strange  teachings  of  the  Nazarene, 
for  he  shook  his  head  negatively,  and  at 
intervals  shrugged  his  shoulders.  At 
last  he  rose  and  began  saying  farewell. 

Suddenly  Anthea  said: 

"  Caius,  let  us  go  hence  and  see  this 
Nazarene." 

"  Hasten,"  said  the  departing  Pilate, 
"  soon  the  procession  will  start." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  day,  which  in  the  morning  had 
been  hot  and  clear,  became  overcast  at 
noon.  From  the  northeast  came  dark 
and  coppery  clouds,  not  very  large,  but 
ominous  and  pregnant  with  storm. 
Between  them  could  yet  be  seen  frag- 


52  Let  Us  Follow  Him. 

ments  of  the  blue  sky,  but  it  could  be 
easily  foreseen  that  they  would  soon  all 
come  together  and  veil  the  horizon. 
Meanwhile  the  sun  tinged  the  side  of  the 
clouds  with  gold  and  fire.  Over  the  city 
itself,  and  adjoining  hills,  was  still  out- 
stretched an  expanse  of  blue  sky,  and 
beneath  the  wind  was  still. 

On  a  high  plateau,  called  Golgotha, 
stood,  here  and  there,  small  crowds  of 
people  who  had  come  in  advance  of  the 
procession.  The  sun  shone  on  the  wide, 
rocky  spaces,  desolate,  barren,  and  melan- 
choly. Their  gray,  monotonous  color  was 
interrupted  here  and  there  with  a  black 
net  of  crags  and  fissures,  which  seemed 
more  black  in  contrast  with  the  brightness 
of  the  plateau,  which  was  flooded  with 
sunshine.  Far  away  were  seen  higher 
hills,  equally  desolate,  veiled  in  the  blue 
mist  of  the  distance. 

Lower,  between  the  walls  of  the  city 


Let  Us  Follow  Him.  53 

and  the  plateau  of  Golgotha,  lay  a  plain, 
broken  in  places  with  terraces  of  rock, 
but  less  barren.  From  out  the  fissures  of 
the  rocks  in  which  rich  loam  had  collected 
grew  fig  trees,  with  leaves  scarce  and  poor. 
Occasionally  arose  buildings  fastened  like 
swallows'  nests  to  the  rocks,  or  white 
painted  graves  glistening  in  the  sunlight. 
The  influx  of  people  from  the  country  for 
the  holy  days  caused  them  to  rear  close 
to  the  walls  of  the  city  multitudes  of  huts 
and  tents,  thus  creating  many  camps,  full 
of  men  and  camels. 

The  sun  rose  higher  and  higher  in  the 
clear  part  of  the  sky.  The  hour  was  ap- 
proaching when  deep  silence  reigned  on 
these  hills,  and  all  nature  sought  the 
shade.  And  even  now,  in  great  contrast 
to  the  living  crowds,  sorrow  seemed  to 
brood  over  this  place  where  the  blinding 
light  fell  not  on  the  green  turf,  but  on 
the  masses  of  gray  desolate  rock.  The 


54:  Let  Us  Follow  Him. 

murmur  of  far  distant  voices  coming  from 
the  walls,  changed  as  if  into  the  ripple  of 
the  waves,  and  seemed  to  be  absorbed  in 
the  silence. 

The  scattered  groups  of  people,  who 
from  the  early  morn  had  awaited  on  Gol- 
gotha, now  turned  their  faces  toward  the 
city,  from  whence  they  expected  the  pro- 
cession to  start  every  moment. 

Anthea  now  arrived,  carried  in  a  litter, 
escorted  by  soldiers  who  were  sent  by  the 
Procurator,  to  clear  the  way  and  protect 
her  against  the  fanatical  crowds  who  hated 
all  foreigners.  Near  to  the  litter  walked 
Cinna,  in  the  company  of  the  centurion 
Kufilus. 

Anthea  was  more  quiet  and  less  terri- 
fied at  the  approach  of  the  noon  time, 
threatening  her  with  those  frightful  vis- 
ions which  sapped  her  life.  The  mem- 
ory of  what  the  Procurator  had  said  to  her 
of  the  young  Nazarene  absorbed  her 


Let  Us  Follow  Him.  55 

thoughts  and  turned  her  attention  away 
from  her  own  misery.  It  all  seemed  to 
her  wonderful,  and  she  could  not  under- 
stand. In  her  world  many  men  died  as 
quietly  as  dies  the  funeral  pyre  when  the 
fuel  is  done.  But  their  peace  arose  from 
courage,  or  a  philosophical  indifference  to 
the  unheeding  fates;  their  light  seemed 
changing  into  darkness;  true  life  into 
some  misty,  fantastic  and  indescribable 
existence.  Until  now,  no  one  blesses 
death,  no  one  dies  with  the  absolute 
surety  that  after  the  pyre  or  grave  begins 
a  true  existence  and  happiness  so  mighty 
and  infinite,  such  as  only  a  being  all-pow- 
erful and  omnipotent  can  give. 

He,  then,  who  hath  to  be  crucified  an- 
nounced this  as  undoubted  truth.  This 
doctrine  not  only  impressed  Anthea,  but 
seemed  to  her  the  only  fountain  of  hope 
and  consolation.  She  knew  that  he  must 
die,  and  a  great  sympathy  filled  her  soul. 


56  Let  Us  Follow  Him. 

What  was  death  to  her?  It  was  abandon- 
ment of  Cinna,  abandonment  of  her 
father,  abandonment  of  the  world  and 
love;  emptiness,  coldness,  nothingness, 
gloom. 

Sweet  was  life  to  her,  bitter  was  her 
regret  to  leave  it.  If  death  could  be  of 
some  avail,  or  if  it  could  be  possible  to 
take  with  one  even  the  memory  of  love, 
she  would  more  easily  be  resigned  to  the 
inevitable. 

Expecting  from  death  nothing,  now  she 
suddenly  learns  that  it  can  give  her  all. 

And  who  announces  this?  Some  won- 
derful man — a  teacher,  a  philosopher,  a 
prophet — who  commended  love  as  the 
highest  virtue,  who,  while  suffering  ago- 
nies under  the  lash,  blessed  his  perse- 
cutors, who  intended  to  crucify  him.  So 
Anthea  thought,  "  Why  did  he  teach  so, 
if  the  cross  is  his  only  reward?  Others 
desired  power — he  cared  naught  for  it; 


Let  Us  Follow  Him.  57 

others  desired  property — he  remained  poor; 
others  desired  palaces,  feasts,  luxuries, 
purple  robes,  chariots  inlaid  with  mother- 
of-pearl  and  ivory — he  lived  as  a  shepherd. 
Again  he  commended  love,  pity,  poverty, 
so  he  could  not  be  bad,  or  purposely  mis- 
lead others.  If  that  which  he  spoke  is 
truth,  then  death  be  blessed  as  an  end  of 
earthly  misery,  as  a  change  from  small  to 
large  and  better  happiness,  as  a  light  to 
fading  eyes,  and  as  wings  with  which  to 
fly  into  eternal  joy!"  Now  Anthea  un- 
derstood what  meant  the  assurance  of  the 
resurrection. 

The  mind  and  heart  of  the  poor  sufferer 
clung  with  all  her  force  to  this  doctrine. 
She  recalled  the  words  of  her  father,  who 
often  said,  that  only  some  new  truth  can 
free  the  tortured  human  soul  from  its 
darkness  and  chains.  And  lo!  here  was  a 
new  truth.  It  defeated  death,  therefore 
it  brought  salvation.  Anthea's  whole  be- 


58  Let  Us  Follow  Him. 

ing  was  so  submerged  in  these  thoughts, 
that  Cinna,  for  the  first  time  in  many 
days,  failed  to  observe  terror  on  her  face 
before  approaching  midday. 

The  procession  had  at  last  started  from 
the  city  to  Golgotha,  and  from  the  prom- 
inence upon  which  Anthea  rested  it  could 
be  plainly  seen.  The  multitude  of  peo- 
ple was  large,  but  in  contrast  with  the 
vast  plain  it  seemed  smaller.  From  the 
open  gates  of  the  city  the  crowd  kept 
pouring  out,  and  the  number  was  being 
augmented  by  those  waiting  outside  the 
walls.  First  appeared  a  long  file,  which 
widened  out  like  a  river  as  it  proceeded. 
At  the  flanks  ran  swarms  of  children. 
The  procession  was  spotted  with  the  white 
garments  and  scarlet  and  blue  headdresses 
of  the  women.  In  the  midst  glistened 
the  bright  armor  and  spears  of  the  Roman 
cohort,  which  reflected  the  flying  rays  of 
the  sun.  The  murmur  of  mixed  voices 


Let  Us  Follow  Him.  59 

came  from  afar  and  became  more  and 
more  distinct. 

At  last  they  approached  nearer,  and  the 
first  rows  commenced  ascending  the  hill. 
The  crowd  hurried  up  to  secure  good 
places,  so  that  they  might  better  view  the 
spectacle,  thus  leaving  in  the  rear  the 
company  of  soldiers  who  guarded  the  con- 
demned. First  to  arrive  were  half-naked 
children,  mostly  boys,  whose  loins  only 
were  covered  with  a  cloth,  with  closely 
cropped  heads,  save  two  locks  of  hair  in 
front,  blue-eyed,  swarthy,  and  loud-voiced. 
With  wild  uproar  they  tore  out  loose 
pieces  of  rock  from  the  crevices  with 
which  to  stone  the  condemned.  Behind 
them  the  hill  swarmed  with  the  grizzled 
rabble,  most  of  whose  faces  expressed  a 
fierce  burning  expectation.  There  were 
seen  no  traces  of  pity.  Although  Anthea 
was  accustomed  in  Alexandria  to  the  ani- 
mated speech  of  the  Greeks,  yet  she  was 


60  Let  Us  Follow  Him. 

astounded  at  the  loud,  sharp  tones  of  their 
voices,  the  volubility  of  their  cries,  and 
their  wild,  excited  gestures  and  actions. 
The  crowd  seemed  as  if  about  to  engage 
in  a  fight,  shouting  as  if  their  lives  were 
at  stake,  and  wrangling  as  if  in  danger  of 
being  torn  limb  from  limb. 

Centurion  Eufilus  approached  the  litter 
and  quietly  gave  some  instructions  to  the 
soldiers.  Meanwhile,  from  the  city  the 
crowds  grew  in  numbers,  like  the  waves  of 
the  sea.  The  pressure  increased  every 
minute.  In  the  multitude  could  be  seen 
well-to-do  citizens  of  Jerusalem,  clothed 
in  striped  robes,  who  kept  aloof  from  the 
mob  of  the  purlieus;  also  came  numerous 
husbandmen,  accompanied  by  their  fami- 
lies, who  came  to  the  city  for  the  holy 
days.  Also  there  were  laborers  whose 
loins  were  clad  in  bagging,  and  herdsmen 
clad  in  goatskins,  with  good-natured  won- 
derment depicted  on  their  faces.  In  the 


Let  Us  Follow  Him.  61 

crowds  could  be  seen  many  women,  but  as 
the  ladies  of  the  upper  classes  remained 
at  home  they  were  mostly  the  women  of 
the  people,  the  wives  of  husbandmen  and 
laborers,  or  the  women  of  the  street,  ar- 
rayed in  flaming  colors,  with  dyed  hair 
and  eyebrows,  tinted  finger  nails  and  car- 
mined  cheeks,  scented  with  nard  which 
one  could  smell  from  afar,  large  earrings 
and  necklaces  made  of  coins.  At  last 
arrived  a  sanhedrim  of  the  scribes  and 
elders,  and  in  their  midst  walked  Hanaan, 
an  old  man  with  the  face  of  a  vulture  and 
red  eyelids,  the  high  priest  Caiaphas,  with 
a  two -cornered  headdress  and  golden 
breastplate.  Together  with  them  walked 
different  Pharisees:  first,  the  "foot  drag- 
gers,"  who  purposely  stumbled  at  every 
obstacle,  the  "bleeding  heads/'  who  struck 
their  heads  against  the  walls,  and  the 
"bowed  backs,"  who  pretended  to  be 
weighed  down  with  the  sins  of  the  whole 


62  Let  Us  Follow  Him. 

city.  Their  ascetic  gloom  and  rigorous 
countenances  distinguished  them  from  the 
noisy  crowd  of  the  common  people. 

Cinna  regarded  the  multitude  with  the 
cold,  haughty  glance  of  the  dominant 
class,  Anthea  with  surprise  and  alarm. 
Many  Jews  inhabited  Alexandria,  but 
there  they  were  half  Hellenes,  here  for 
the  first  time  she  saw  them  as  described 
by  Pilate  and  as  they  indeed  were,  in  their 
own  nest.  Her  young  face,  on  which 
death  had  already  put  its  seal,  and  her 
shadowy  form,  attracted  attention.  They 
eyed  her  as  persistently  as  the  soldiers  sur- 
rounding her  litter  would  admit;  so  great 
was  their  hatred  and  abhorrence  for  all 
foreigners  that  their  faces  showed  no  pity, 
but  rather  joy  that  she  could  not  escape 
death.  Anthea  now  understood  why  these 
men  could  clamor  to  crucify  the  prophet 
who  preached  love. 

Suddenly  it  appeared  to  her  as  if  this 


Let  Us  Follow  Him.  63 

Nazarene  were  very  near  and  dear  to  her. 
He  must  die  and  so  must  she.  Naught 
could  save  him  after  the  decree  of  death 
was  issued,  and  now  her  decree  was  irre- 
vocable, so  it  seemed  to  Anthea  that  they 
were  joined  together  in  the  bonds  of  suf- 
fering and  of  death.  He  went  to  the 
cross  with  a  sublime  faith  in  the  hereafter, 
while  she,  possessing  none,  had  come  here 
to  view  him,  hoping  thereby  to  obtain  it. 
Meanwhile,  from  afar  spread  the  wild, 
howling  tumult,  and  then  came  a  deep 
silence.  Then  was  heard  the  clanking  of 
armor  and  the  heavy  tread  of  the  legion- 
aries. The  crowd  wavered,  opened,  and 
the  body  of  soldiers  preceding  the  con- 
demned began  to  file  past  the  litter. 
From  the  front,  sides,  and  rear  marched 
the  soldiers,  with  regular  and  even  tread, 
and  in  the  middle  could  be  seen,  borne 
aloft,  the  timbers  for  three  crosses,  which 
seemed  to  go  alone  because  they  were  car- 


64  Let  Us  Follow  Him. 

ried  by  three  men  who  were  bent  under 
their  weight.  It  was  easy  to  see  that  none 
of  these  three  was  the  Nazarene,  for  two 
of  them  had  the  shameless  and  unabashed 
faces  of  criminals,  and  the  third  was  a 
middle-aged  countryman  whom  the  sol- 
diers forced  as  a  substitute.  The  Naza- 
rene  walked  behind  the  crosses,  having  a 
guard  of  two  soldiers.  Around  his  shoul- 
ders and  over  his  robe  was  placed  a  purple 
mantle,  and  on  his  head  a  crown  of  thorns, 
from  under  whose  sharp  points  exuded 
drops  of  blood.  Some  were  trickling 
slowly  down  his  face,  and  some  hardened 
in  globules  like  the  red  berries  of  the  wild 
rose  or  coral  beads.  He  was  pale  and 
walked  with  slow,  weak,  wavering  foot- 
steps. Amid  the  jeers  of  the  crowd  he 
moved  unconsciously,  as  if  wrapt  in  the 
contemplation  of  another  world,  unheed- 
ing the  cries  of  hate  and  derision,  or  as  if, 
forgiving  beyond  the  measure  of  human 


Let  Us  Follow  Him.  65 

forgiveness,  and  compassionate  beyond  the 
measure  of  human  compassion,  because, 
already  he  was  encompassed  by  infinity, 
already  exalted  above  this  human  sphere, 
full  of  peace,  sweet,  and  sad  only  over 
the  great  sin  and  sorrow  of  this  world. 

"Thou  art  truth,"  whispered  Authea, 
with  trembling  lips. 

The  procession  was  now  passing  close  to 
the  litter.  There  was  a  moment  when  the 
procession  stopped  to  allow  the  soldiers  to 
clear  the  way  through  the  mob;  then  An- 
thea  saw  the  ISTazarene  standing  a  few 
footsteps  off.  She  saw  how  the  breeze 
played  with  the  locks  of  his  hair,  saw  the 
purple  reflection  from  his  mantle  on  his 
pale,  translucent  face.  The  crowd  now 
pressed  eagerly  forward  to  reach  him, 
forming  a  narrow  semicircle  around  the 
soldiers,  who  were  compelled  to  make  a 
barrier  with  their  spears  to  defend  him 
from  its  rage.  Everywhere  were  seen 


66  Let  Us  Follow  Him. 

arms  stretched  forth  and  clenched  fists, 
glaring  eyes,  snarling  teeth,  bristling 
beards,  and  foaming  lips  that  vomited 
forth  hoarse  imprecations  over  his  head. 
He  glanced  around  as  if  saying,  "  What 
have  I  done  to  thee?"  Then  lifting  his  eyes 
to  heaven  he  prayed  and  forgave  them. 

"Anthea!  Anthea!"  at  this  moment 
called  Cinna. 

Anthea  heard  not.  Great  tears  welled 
up  in  her  eyes  and  flowed  down  her 
cheeks.  She  forgot  her  illness,  forgot 
that  for  days  she  had  not  arisen  from  her 
litter,  arising  suddenly,  trembling  and 
half -unconscious,  from  sorrow,  compassion 
and  indignation  at  the  blind  clamors  of 
the  crowd,  she  began  hurriedly  plucking 
hyacinths  and  apple  blossoms  from  her 
litter  and  cast  them  at  the  feet  of  the 
Nazarene. 

For  one  moment  there  was  silence.  The 
crowd  was  astounded  at  the  spectacle  of 


Let  Us  Follow  Him.  67 

this  high-born  Roman  lady  honoring  the 
condemned.  He  rested  his  gaze  on  her 
pale,  suffering  face,  and  his  lips  moved  as 
if  blessing  her.  Anthea,  falling  on  the 
pillows  of  the  litter,  felt  that  there  was 
flowing  upon  her  a  sea  of  light,  goodness, 
mercy,  comfort,  hope,  happiness,  and  she 
whispered  again: 

"Thou  art  truth." 

Again  the  tears  welled  up  within  her 
and  flowed  afresh. 

The  Nazarene  was  now  pushed  forward 
a  number  of  paces,  to  where  already  stood 
the  upright  timbers  of  the  crosses,  se- 
curely imbedded  in  the  fissures  of  the 
rocks.  For  a  moment  the  crowd  ob- 
structed her  view,  but  as  the  place  where 
the  crosses  were  erected  was  on  higher 
ground,  she  again  saw  his  pale  face,  sur- 
mounted with  the  crown  of  thorns.  The 
soldiers  again  with  the  butt  ends  of  their 
spears  drove  back  the  crowds,  so  that  they 


68  Let  Us  Follow  Him. 

would  not  interfere  with  the  execution. 
They  now  commenced  to  fasten  the  two 
thieves  to  their  crosses.  The  third  cross 
stood  in  the  middle,  with  a  white  tablet 
nailed  to  the  top,  which  shook  and  rattled 
in  the  increasing  wind.  When  the  sol- 
diers approached  the  Nazarene  to  disrobe 
him  the  crowd  resounded  with  mocking 
exclamations  :  "  King  !  king  !  surrender 
not  thyself  !  King  !  where  are  now  thy 
hosts?  Defend  thyself  I"  And  then  burst 
forth  a  mighty  derisive  laugh,  which  was 
taken  up  and  echoed  by  the  rocky  hills. 
Meanwhile  the  soldiers  had  stretched  him 
on  the  ground  to  prepare  to  nail  his  hands 
to  the  crosspiece,  and  then  together  with 
it  to  raise  him  to  the  upright  timber. 

At  this  instant  a  man  who  was  standing 
near  Anthea's  litter,  dressed  in  a  white 
simar,  threw  himself  on  the  ground,  cast 
dust  on  his  head,  and  wailed  forth  with 
despairing  voice : 


Let  Us  Follow  Him.  69 

"I  was  a  leper — he  healed  me — why 
crucify  him?" 

The  face  of  Anthea  became  as  white  as 
linen. 

"  He  healed  him !  Dost  thon  hear, 
Cains?"  she  said. 

"Dost  thou  wish  to  return?"  asked 
Cinna. 

"No,  I  shall  remain  here." 

Cinna  was  now  filled  with  a  wild  and 
immeasurable  despair,  because  he  had 
not  besought  the  Nazarene  to  heal 
Anthea. 

At  this  moment  the  soldiers  placed  the 
nails  against  the  palms  of  his  hands,  and 
began  to  strike  them.  At  first  was  heard 
the  dull  clang  of  the  hammers  on  the 
iron,  which  changed  into  a  clearer  sound 
as  the  nails  penetrated  the  wood.  The 
crowd  again  became  quiet,  the  better  to 
hear  the  cries  which  they  expected  the 


70  Let  TJs  Follow  Him. 

pain  would  wring  from  the  lips  of  the 
Nazarene. 

But  he  remained  silent  and  naught 
could  be  heard  save  the  ominous  strokes 
of  the  hammer. 

At  last  they  finished  the  work,  and  the 
crosspiece,  together  with  the  body,  was 
raised  up.  The  centurion,  who  was  watch- 
ing their  work,  sang  out  monotonous 
words  of  command,  upon  which  a  soldier 
began  to  nail  the  feet.  Meanwhile  the 
clouds,  which  from  the  morning  were 
spreading  over  the  horizon,  obscured  the 
sun.  The  distant  rocks  and  hills  were  ex- 
tinguished. The  earth  darkened  as  if 
before  night.  An  ominous  copper-colored 
gloom  covered  the  land,  and  became  deep- 
er and  deeper,  as  the  sun  sank  further 
behind  the  somber  banks  of  clouds.  It 
seemed  as  if  some  power  from  above  were 
passing  through  a  sieve  red  darkness  on 
the  earth.  Then  came  a  hot  gust  of  wind 


Let  Us  Follow  Him.  71 

— once,  twice — then  stopped.  The  air 
became  stifling. 

Suddenly  the  remnants  of  ruddy  gleams 
darkened;  clouds,  dismal  as  night,  rolled 
as  a  gigantic  wall  toward  the  plateau, 
and  the  city.  The  storm  was  arising. 
The  world  was  filled  with  a  great  un- 
rest. 

"  Let  us  return/'  repeated  Cinna. 

11  Again  and  again  I  must  see  him," 
answered  Anthea. 

As  the  darkness  bedimmed  the  hanging 
bodies,  Cinna  commanded  the  litter  to  be 
brought  nearer  the  place  of  suffering. 
They  approached  so  near  that  only  a  few 
steps  separated  them  from  the  cross.  On 
the  dark  tree  was  seen  the  white  body  of 
the  crucified,  which  in  the  gathering 
gloom  looked  as  if  woven  from  silvery 
moonbeams.  His  breast  rose  and  fell  with 
quick  breaths,  his  head  and  eyes  he  held 
turned  upward. 


72          Let  Us  Follow  Him. 

From  out  the  clouds  there  issued  a  low, 
deep,  rumbling  murmur.  The  thunder 
awoke,  arose,  rolled  with  a  terrific  crash 
from  east  to  west,  and  then,  as  if  falling 
into  a  bottomless  pit,  resounded  lower 
and  lower,  weaker,  then  louder,  and  in 
the  end  the  thunderbolt  exploded  with  a 
deafening  report,  which  shook  the  earth 
to  its  foundation. 

Blue,  lurid,  gigantic  lightning  tore 
through  the  clouds,  illuminating  heaven, 
earth,  the  crosses,  the  soldiers'  armor;  the 
mob  huddled  like  a  flock  of  sheep,  restless 
and  frightened. 

After  the  lightning  the  darkness  deep- 
ened. 

Near  the  litter  could  be  heard  the 
weeping  of  many  women,  who  had  striven 
to  approach  the  cross.  There  was  some- 
thing indescribably  affecting  in  this  sound 
amid  the  silence.  They,  who  had  been 
separated  by  the  crowd,  began  to  hail 


Let  Us  Follow  Him.  73 

each  other.  Here  and  there  arose  fright- 
ened voices. 

"Oyah!  Oy  lanoo!  Is  not  the  just  cru- 
cified?" 

"  Who  gave  witness  to  the  truth? 
Oyah!" 

"  Who  raised  the  dead?  Oyah!" 

Another  cries: 

"  Woe  to  thee,  oh,  Jerusalem!" 

Another  again: 

"The  earth  trembleth!" 

The  second  lightning  opened  the 
depths  of  heaven,  and  showed  in  them 
Titanic,  fiery  figures.  The  voices  were 
silenced,  or  rather  perished  in  the  whist- 
ling of  the  wind,  which  suddenly  arose  with 
a  mighty  force,  tearing  the  headgear  and 
mantles  from  the  multitude,  and  scatter- 
ing them  broadcast  over  the  plateau. 

The  multitude  again  cried  forth: 

"The  earth  trembleth!" 

Some  started  to  run;  others  were  riveted 


74:  Let  Us  Follow  Him. 

to  the  spot  with  terror,  and  they  stood 
stupefied,  without  thought,  with  the  dull 
impression  only  that  something  terrible 
had  occurred. 

The  darkness  began  to  redden.  The 
storm  rolled  in  the  clouds,  turning  them 
over  and  tearing  them  into  fragments. 
The  light  gradually  increased,  the  dark 
dome  of  the  heavens  opened,  and  through 
the  rift  suddenly  poured  a  stream  of 
bright  sunlight.  It  made  everything 
visible — the  plateau,  the  frightened  faces, 
and  the  crosses. 

The  head  of  the  Nazarene  had  fallen  on 
his  breast,  pale  and  waxen;  his  eyelids 
were  closed  and  his  lips  were  blue. 

"He  is  dead,"  whispered  Anthea. 

"  He  is  dead,"  repeated  Cinna. 

At  this  moment  the  centurion  raised 
his  spear,  and  pierced  the  side  of  the 
dead  one.  It  was  wonderful.  The 
return  of  light  and  the  sight  of  this  death 


Let  Us  Follow  Him.  75 

seemed  to  quiet  the  crowd.  Now  the  peo- 
ple approached  nearer  to  the  cross,  the 
soldiers  not  hindering  them.  Now  there 
were  heard  voices: 

"Descend  from  the  cross!  descend  from 
the  cross !" 

Anthea,  resting  her  eyes  once  more  on 
this  pale,  reclining  head,  whispered,  as  if 
to  herself: 

"  Will  he  arise  from  the  dead?" 

In  the  presence  of  death,  which  had  set 
its  blue  mark  on  his  eyes  and  lips,  in  the 
presence  of  those  outstretched  arms,  in 
the  presence  of  this  motionless  body,  sag- 
ging downward  with  a  dead  weight,  her 
voice  trembled  with  despair  and  doubt. 

A  no  less  sorrow  was  tugging  at  the  soul 
of  Cinna.  He  also  did  not  believe  that 
the  Nazarene  would  arise  from  the  dead, 
but  he  did  believe,  that  if  he  had  lived, 
he,  with  his  good  or  evil  power,  could 
have  healed  Anthea. 


76  Let  Us  Follow  Him. 

Meanwhile  some  of  the  multitude  clam- 
ored again: 

"Descend  from  the  cross!  descend  from 
the  cross!" 

"Descend!"  repeated  Cinna,  in  the  de- 
spair of  his  soul,  "heal  her  for  me,  and 
take  for  it  my  life." 

It  became  clearer.  The  hills  were  yet 
in  mist,  but  over  the  plateau  and  city  the 
sky  was  bright.  "  Turris  Antonia" 
blazed  in  the  sky,  as  if  it  were  a  sun  it- 
self. The  air  became  fresh  and  swarmed 
with  swallows.  Cinna  gave  command  to 
return. 

The  hour  was  after  the  noon  time. 
Near  the  house,  Anthea  said  suddenly: 

"Hecate  did  not  come  to-day/' 

Cinna  also  thought  of  this. 


Let  Us  Follow  Him.  77 


CHAPTER   VII. 

THE  haunting  specter  did  not  appear 
the  next  day.  The  patient  was  more 
cheerful  than  usual,  because  there  arrived 
from  Caesarea,  Timon,  who,  being  anxious 
for  his  daughter's  life,  and  alarmed  by 
Cinna's  letters,  had  a  few  days  before  left 
Alexandria,  to  behold  once  more  his  only 
child,  before  death  claimed  her.  To  Cin- 
na's heart  again  came  hope,  knocking  as 
if  calling  for  admittance.  He  dared  not 
open  the  door  to  this  guest;  he  feared  to 
hope.  Never  before  had  there  been  a 
cessation  of  these  visions  which  tortured 
Anthea  for  two  days  in  succession,  though 
these  visions  had  ceased  for  one  day  at 
Alexandria,  and  once  in  the  desert.  The 
present  improvement  Cinna  ascribed  to 
the  arrival  of  Timon  and  the  impression 


78  Let  Us  Follow  Him. 

of  the  cross,  which  so  filled  the  thoughts 
of  the  patient,  that  even  in  the  presence 
of  her  father  she  could  speak  of  naught 
else. 

Timon  heard  all  this  with  great  atten- 
tion, contradicted  not,  pondered  deeply, 
and  seriously  inquired  into  the  doctrine 
of  the  Nazarene,  of  which  Anthea  knew 
only  what  Pilate  had  told  her. 

She  felt  better  and  somewhat  stronger, 
and  when  noon  came  and  went,  in  her 
eyes  shone  true  hope.  Several  times  she 
called  this  day  fortunate,  and  asked  her 
husband  to  make  a  note  of  it. 

The  day  was  indeed  somber  and  gloomy. 
The  rain  fell  all  the  morning,  copiously 
at  first,  then  in  a  lesser  degree,  until  it 
drizzled  out  of  the  low  overhanging 
clouds.  In  the  evening  the  clouds  lifted, 
and  the  great  fiery  globe  of  the  sun 
looked  out  of  the  mist,  painted  with  pur- 
ple and  gold  the  clouds,  the  gray  rocks, 


Let  Us  Follow  Him.  79 

the  white  portico  of  the  villa,  and  sank 
below  the  horizon  amid  these  glorious 
colors  into  the  Mediterranean. 

The  day  following  the  weather  was 
beautiful.  It  prophesied  heat,  but  the 
morning  was  fresh,  the  sky  was  cloudless, 
and  the  air  so  submerged  in  the  blue  bath 
that  everything  seemed  to  be  blue.  An- 
thea  ordered  herself  carried  beneath  the 
favorite  pistachio  tree,  so  that  from  the 
eminence  upon  which  it  stood  she  might 
drink  in  the  view  of  the  joyful  and  azure 
expanse.  Cinna  and  Timon  did  not  leave 
the  side  of  the  litter  for  one  instant,  care- 
fully watching  the  face  of  the  invalid.  It 
bore  an  expression  of  wistful  expectancy. 
There  was  an  absence  of  that  dreadful 
terror  which  previously  had  enveloped  her 
before  the  coming  of  midday.  Her  eyes 
were  clear  and  bright,  and  her  cheeks 
were  mantled  with  a  delicate  rosy  flush. 
At  moments  Cinna  indeed  thought  that 


80  Let  Us  Follow  Him. 

Anthea  might  regain  her  health,  and  at 
this  thought  he  felt  like  throwing  himself 
on  the  ground  and  blessing  the  gods; 
again,  fear  possessed  him  that  this  might 
be  the  last  gleam  of  the  flickering  lamp. 
Desiring  to  gain  some  assurance  from 
Timon  he  looked  at  him,  but  like  thoughts 
were  passing  in  the  mind  of  Timon,  and 
he  avoided  Cinna's  gaze.  Cinna,  watch- 
ing the  shadows,  marked  with  beating 
heart  that  they  became  more  and  more 
short. 

They  all  sat  immersed  in  thought.  The 
least  perturbed  of  all  was  Anthea  herself. 
Eeclining  in  the  open  litter,  with  her  head 
resting  on  a  purple  pillow,  she  breathed 
with  joy  the  pure  air  which  the  western 
breeze  brought  from  the  sea ;  but  before 
noon  this  breeze  fell.  The  heat  became 
greater;  warmed  by  the  sun,  the  wild 
flower  of  the  rocks  and  the  bushes  of  nard 
exhaled  a  fragrance,  strong  and  intoxica- 


Let  Us  Follow  Him.  81 

ting.  Over  the  clusters  of  anemones  hov- 
ered bright  butterflies.  From  out  the  fis- 
sures of  the  rocks  stole  small  lizards, 
which  had  already  become  accustomed  to 
the  litter  and  people,  venturing,  as  usual, 
one  after  another,  yet  timid  and  cautious 
of  every  movement.  The  whole  world 
was  resting  in  the  soothing  balm  of  the 
radiant  silence,  warmth,  pure  sweetness, 
blue  dreaminess. 

Timon  and  Cinna  seemed  equally  sunk 
in  this  profound  azure  peace.  Anthea 
closed  her  eyes  as  if  drifting  into  slumber; 
the  silence  was  unbroken  save  by  the  faint 
sighs  which  animated  her  bosom. 

Cinna  now  observed  that  his  shadow 
had  shortened  and  lay  around  his  feet. 

It  was  noon. 

Anthea  slowly  opened  her  eyes,  broke 
the  silence  in  a  strange  tone,  saying: 

"  Cinna,  give  me  thy  hand." 

Cinna  started  to  her  side,  the  blood  con- 


82  Let  Us  Follow  Him. 

gealed  in  his  veins  as  if  his  heart  was  ice: 
the  hour  for  the  terrible  vision  had  come. 

Her  eyes  opened  wider. 

"Seest  thou,"  she  said,  "over  there,  a 
light,  gathering  and  forming  in  the  air? 
See  how  it  shines,  trembles,  and  ap- 
proaches me!" 

"Anthea!  look  not  there  !"  exclaimed 
Cinna. 

Wonderful !  No  terror  appeared  on  her 
face,  her  lips  slightly  parted,  her  eyes 
widened  and  a  measureless  joy  illuminated 
her  face. 

"  The  pillar  of  light  approaches  me," 
she  further  said. 

"I  see;  it  is  he,  it  is  the  Nazarene! — 
he  smiles! — Oh,  sweet! — Oh,  merciful! — 
His  pierced  hands  he  stretches  forth  to 
me  as  a  mother.  Cinna !  he  brings 
me  health,  salvation,  and  calls  me  unto 
Him." 

Cinna,  becoming  very  pale,  said: 


"  Seest  thou,"  she  said,  "  over  there,  a  light  gathering 
ind  forming  in  the  air  ?"— Page  82. 


Let  Us  Follow  Him.  83 

"  Whithersoever  He  calleth  us — Let  us 
follow  Him." 

A  moment  later,  from  the  other  side,  on 
the  stony  pathway  leading  from  the  city, 
appeared  Pontius  Pilate.  Before  he  ap- 
proached it  could  be  seen  from  his  face 
that  he  brought  great  tidings,  which  as  a 
sensible  man  he  regards  as  a  new,  fantas- 
tical invention  of  the  credulous  and  igno- 
rant multitude.  From  afar  off  he  called 
out  aloud,  as  he  wiped  the  sweat  from  his 
brow: 

"Imagine  what  they  now  say:  that  He 
has  risen  from  the  dead!" 


SIELANKA. 


SIELANKA. 

An  Idyll. 


IN  the  woods,  in  the  deep  woods,  was 
an  open  glade  in  which  stood  the  house  of 
the  forester  Stephan.  The  house  was 
built  of  logs  packed  with  moss,  and  the 
roof  was  thatched  with  straw;  hard  by 
the  house  stood  two  outbuildings;  in 
front  of  it  was  a  piece  of  fenced-in  ground, 
and  an  old  well  with  a  long,  crooked  sweep; 
the  water  in  the  well  was  covered  with  a 
green  vegetation  at  the  edges. 

Opposite  the  windows  grew  sunflowers 
and  wild  hollyhocks,  high,  stately,  and 
covered  with  blossoms  as  if  with  a  swarrn 
of  gorgeous  butterflies;  between  the  sun- 
flowers there  peeped  the  red  heads  of  the 
poppy;  around  the  hollyhocks  entwined 


88  Sielanka. 

sweet  peas  with  pink  blossoms  and  morn- 
ing-glories; close  to  the  ground  grew 
nasturtiums,  marigolds,  primroses,  and 
asters,  pale  because  they  were  shaded  from 
the  sunlight  by  the  leaves  of  the  holly- 
hocks and  sunflowers. 

The  fenced  ground  on  either  side  of  the 
pathway  leading  to  the  house  was  planted 
with  vegetables — carrots,  beets,  and  cab- 
bage; further  off  in  a  separate  fenced-in 
lot  there  waved  with  each  breath  of  wind 
the  tender  blue  flower  of  the  flax;  still  be- 
yond could  be  seen  the  dark  green  of  the 
potato  patch;  the  rest  of  the  clearing  was 
checkered  with  the  variegated  shades  of 
the  different  cereals  that  ran  to  the  edge 
of  the  lake  which  touched  the  glade  on 
one  side. 

Near  to  the  house  a  few  trees  were 
growing.  Some  were  cherry  trees,  and 
one  was  a  birch,  with  long,  slender 
branches  which  swayed  in  the  wind,  and 


Sielanka.  89 

with  every  breeze  its  leaves  touched  the 
dilapidated  moss-covered  straw  thatch  of 
the  roof;  when  the  stronger  gusts  of  wind 
bent  its  boughs  to  the  wall,  and  pressed 
its  twigs  and  the  waves  of  leaves  against 
the  roof,  it  would  seem  as  if  the  tree  loved 
the  house  and  embraced  it. 

In  this  tree  the  sparrows  made  their 
home;  the  rustling  of  the  leaves  and  twigs 
commingled  with  the  chirp  and  joyous 
noise  of  the  birds;  in  the  eaves  of  the 
house  the  doves  had  built  their  nests,  and 
the  place  was  filled  with  their  speech, 
cooing  and  calling  to  each  other,  entreat- 
ing and  discussing  as  is  customary  between 
doves,  these  noisy  and  talkative  people. 

At  times  it  happened  that  they  were 
startled  by  some  unknown  cause;  then 
around  the  house  was  heard  a  loud  flap- 
ping, the  air  was  filled  with  the  whirl  of 
wings  and  a  multitude  of  white-feathered 
breasts;  you  could  hear  tumult,  noise  av.-.1 


90  Sielanka. 

excited  cries — the  whole  flock  flew  out 
suddenly,  circled  round  the  house,  now 
near,  now  far  off.  Sometimes  they  melted 
in  the  blue,  sometimes  their  white  feathers 
reflected  the  sunlight,  again  they  hung 
over  the  house,  undulating  in  the  air,  and 
alighting  at  last  like  a  downfall  of  snow- 
flakes  on  the  gray  straw  of  the  roof. 

If  this  occurred  in  the  rosy  morning  or 
in  the  splendor  of  the  red  setting  sun, 
then  in  the  glory  of  the  air  these  doves 
were  not  white,  but  tinted  pink,  and 
settled  on  the  roof  and  birch  tree  as  flames 
or  scattered  rose  leaves. 

At  twilight,  when  the  sun  had  hidden 
itself  beyond  the  woods,  this  cooing  under 
the  roof  and  chirping  in  the  birch  tree 
became  gradually  quiet.  The  sparrows 
and  the  doves  shook  the  dew  from  their 
wings  and  prepared  to  sleep;  sometimes 
one  of  them  gave  voice  once  more,  but 
more  rarely,  more  softly,  more  drowsily, 


Sielanka.  91 

and  then  all  was  silent — the  dusk  was  fall- 
ing from  the  heavens  upon  the  earth. 
The  house,  cherry  trees,  and  birch  were 
losing  their  form,  mingling  together, 
melting,  and  veiled  in  a  mist  which  rose 
from  the  lake. 

Around  the  glade,  as  far  as  the  eyo 
could  reach,  there  stretched  the  wall  of 
dark  pine  trees  and  thick  undergrowth. 
This  wall  was  broken  in  one  place  by  a 
wide  dividing  line,  which  reached  to  the 
edge  of  the  lake.  The  lake  was  a  very 
large  one,  the  opposite  side  was  nearly 
lost  to  view,  and  in  the  mist  could  be 
hardly  discerned  the  red  roof  and  steeple 
of  a  church,  and  the  black  line  of  the 
woods  closing  the  horizon  beyond  the 
church. 

The  pines  were  looking  from  the  high 
sandy  banks  upon  their  reflection  in  the 
lake  as  if  in  a  mirror,  and  it  seemed  as  if 
there  was  another  forest  in  the  water;  arc] 


92  Sielanka. 

when  the  trees  wore  swaying  on  the  earth 
they  were  also  swaying  in  the  water,  and 
when  they  quivered  on  the  earth  they 
seemed  to  quiver  in  the  water;  as  they 
stood  in  the  still  air  motionless,  then 
every  needle  of  the  pines  was  painted  dis- 
tinctly on  the  smooth,  unruffled  surface, 
and  the  straight  trunks  of  the  trees  stand- 
ing like  rows  of  pillars  reaching  ufar  off 
into  infinity.  In  the  middle  of  the  lake 
the  water  in  the  daytime  reflected  the 
sun,  and  in  the  morning  and  the  evening 
the  glories  of  its  rising  and  its  setting;  at 
night  the  moon  and  stars;  and  it  seemed 
to  be  as  deep  as  the  dome  of  the  sky 
above  us  is  high,  beyond  the  sun,  moon, 
and  stars. 

In  the  house  dwelt  the  forester,  named 
Stephan,  and  his  daughter,  Kasya,  a 
maiden  of  sixteen.  Kasya  was  the  light 
of  the  household,  as  bright  and  fresh  as 
the  morning.  She  was  brought  up  in 


Sielanka.  93 

great  innocence  and  in  the  fear  of  God. 
Her  uncle, who  was  now  dead,  and  who  was 
a  poor  but  devout  man,  the  organist  of  the 
neighboring  church,  had  taught  her  to 
read  her  prayer  book,  and  her  education 
was  perfected  by  her  communing  with 
nature.  The  bees  taught  her  to  work, 
the  doves  taught  her  purity,  the  happy 
sparrows  to  speak  joyfully  to  her  father, 
the  quiet  water  taught  her  peace,  the 
serenity  of  the  sky  taught  her  contempla- 
tion, the  matin-bell  of  the  distant  church 
called  her  to  devotion,  and  the  universal 
good  in  all  nature,  which  reflected  the 
love  of  God,  sank  deep  into  her  soul. 

Therefore  the  father  and  Kasya  led  a 
peaceful  and  happy  life,  surrounded  by 
the  silence  and  solitude  of  the  woods. 

One  noon,  before  Ascension  Day, 
Stephan  came  home  to  his  dinner.  He 
had  visited  a  large  tract  of  the  forest,  so 
he  arrived  weary,  having  returned  through 


94  Sielanka. 

the  thickets  of  the  swamp.  Kasya  placed 
the  dinner  on  the  table,  and  after  they 
had  finished  and  she  had  fed  the  dog  and 
washed  the  dishes,  she  said: 

"  Papa." 

"What  is  it?" 

"I  shall  go  into  the  woods." 

"  Go,  go,"  adding  jestingly,  "  and  let 
some  wolf  or  wild  beast  devour  yon." 

"  I  shall  go  and  gather  herbs.  To-mor- 
row is  Ascension  Day  and  they  will  be 
needed  in  the  church." 

"  If  so,  yon  can  go." 

She  covered  her  head  with  a  yellow 
kerchief  embroidered  with  bine  flowers, 
and  looking  for  her  basket  she  began 
singing: 

"  The  falcon  came  flying,  the  falcon  came  grey." 

The  old  man  began  to  grumble:  "  If 
you  were  as  fond  of  working  as  you,  are  of 
singing." 


Sielanka.  95 

Kasya,  who  was  standing  on  her  tip- 
toes to  look  on  a  shelf,  turned  her  head  to 
her  father,  laughed  merrily,  and  showing 
her  white  teeth,  sang  again  as  if  to  tease 
him: 

"He  hoots  in  the  woods  and  the  cuckoo's  his  prey." 

"  You  would  be  glad  yourself  to  he  a 
cuckoo  until  a  falcon  came/'  said  the  old 
man.  "  Perhaps  'tis  falcon  who  is  at  the 
turpentine  works?  but  this  is  folly.  You 
can't  earn  a  piece  of  bread  by  singing." 

Kasya  again  sang: 

"  Hoot  not  thou,  my  falcon,  unhappy  thy  quest, 
In  the  depths  of  the  lake  thy  cuckoo  doth  rest." 

Then  she  said: 

"  Wilt  thou  decorate  the  room  with  the 
evergreens  for  to-morrow?  I  shall  return 
in  time  to  milk  the  cows,  but  they  should 
be  brought  from  the  pasture." 

She  found  her  basket,  kissed  her  father, 


96  Sielanka. 

and  went  out.  Old  Stephan  got  his  un- 
finished fishing-net,  and  seated  himself 
on  a  bench  outside  the  door.  He  gath- 
ered his  twine,  and  half-closing  one  eye 
he  tried  to  thread  his  netting  needle;  after 
several  attempts  he  succeeded  and  began 
to  work. 

From  time  to  time  he  watched  Kasya. 
She  was  walking  on  the  left  side  of  the 
lake;  against  the  background  of  the  sandy 
banks  she  stood  out  in  relief  as  if  in  a 
picture.  Her  white  waist  and  red  striped 
skirt  and  yellow  kerchief  glistened  in  the 
sunlight  like  a  variegated  flower.  Though 
it  was  spring  the  heat  was  unbearable. 
After  she  had  gone  about  half  a  mile  she 
turned  aside  and  disappeared  into  the 
woods.  The  afternoon  hours  were  hot  in 
the  sun,  bat  in  the  shade  of  the  trees  it 
was  quite  cool.  Kasya  pressed  forward, 
suddenly  stopped,  smiled,  and  blushed  like 
a  rose. 


Sielanka.  97 

In  front  of  her  in  the  pathway  stood  a 
youth  about  eighteen  years  of  age. 

This  youth  was  the  turpentine  worker, 
from  the  edge  of  the  woods,  who  was  now 
on  his  way  to  visit  Stephan. 

"  The  Lord  be  praised  !"  said  he. 

"  Forever  and  ever/'  answered  she,  and 
in  her  confusion  she  covered  her  face  with 
her  apron,  peeping  shyly  out  of  a  corner 
of  it  and  smiling  at  her  companion. 

"  Kasya,"  said  he. 

"What  is  it,  John?" 

"  Is  your  father  at  home?" 

"He  is." 

The  turpentine  worker,  poor  fellow, 
perhaps  desired  to  speak  of  something 
else  beside  the  father,  but  somehow  he 
was  frightened  and  unconsciously  inquired 
for  him;  then  he  became  silent  and  waited 
for  Kasya  to  speak  to  him  first.  She 
stood  confused,  twisting  the  corners  of 
her  apron. 


08  Sielanka. 

At  last  she  spoke. 

"John?" 

"  What  is  it,  Kasya?" 

"Does  the  turpentine  works  smoke  to- 
day?" She  also  wished  to  speak  of  some- 
thing else. 

"Why  should  it  not?  The  turpentine 
works  never  stop.  I  left  lame  Frank 
there;  but  dost  thou  wish  to  go  there?" 

"  No,  I  go  to  gather  plants." 

"  I  will  go  with  thee,  and  on  our  re- 
turn, if  thou  dost  not  chase  me  away,  I 
will  come  to  thy  house." 

"  Why  should  I  chase  thee  away  ?" 

"If  thou  dost  like  me  thou  wilt  not 
chase  me  away,  and  if  thou  dost  not,  then 
thou  wilt.  Tell  me,  Kasya,  dost  thou  like 
me?" 

"  Fate,  my  fate,"  and  Kasya  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands.  "  What  can  I  say 
to  thee?  I  like  thee,  John,  very  much  I 
like  thee/'  she  whispered  faintly. 


Sielanka.  99 

Then  before  he  could  reply  she  uncov- 
ered her  blushing  face  and  cried  out, 
"Let  us  go  and  gather  plants;  let  us 
hurry/' 

And  so  went  they,  John  and  Kasya. 
The  radiance  of  love  surrounded  them, 
but  these  simple  children  of  nature  dared 
not  speak  of  it.  They  felt  it,  although 
they  knew  not  what  they  felt;  they  were 
embarrassed  but  happy.  Never  before 
had  the  forest  sung  so  wonderfully  over 
their  heads,  never  was  the  wind  so  sweet 
and  caressing,  never  at  any  time  had  the 
noises  of  the  forest,  the  rustling  of  the 
breeze  in  the  trees,  the  voices  of  the  birds, 
the  echoes  of  the  woods,  seemed  to  merge 
into  such  an  angelic  choir,  so  sweet  and 
grand,  as  at  this  moment,  full  of  uncon- 
scious happiness. 

Oh,  holy  power  of  love  !  how  good  an 
angel  of  light  thou  art,  how  rosy  an 


100  Sielanka. 

aureole  in  the  dusk,  how  bright  a  rain- 
bow on  the  cloud  of  human  tears! 

Meanwhile,  in  the  woods  resounded 
echoes  from  pine  to  pine,  the  barking  of 
the  dog,  Bnrek,  who  had  escaped  from 
the  house  and  ran  on  the  pathway  after 
Kasya.  He  came  panting  heavily,  and 
with  great  joy  he  jumped  with  his  big 
paws  on  Kasya  and  John,  and  looked  from 
one  to  the  other  with  his  wise  and  mild 
eyes,  as  if  wishing  to  say: 

"  I  see  that  you  love  one  another;  this 
is  good." 

He  wagged  his  tail  and  ran  quickly 
ahead  of  thsrn,  then  circled  round  to  them, 
then  stopped,  barked  once  more  with  joy, 
and  rushed  into  the  woods,  looking  back 
from  time  to  time  on  the  boy  and  girl. 

Kasya  put  her  hand  to  her  forehead, 
and  looking  upward  upon  the  bright  sun 
between  the  leaves  she  said : 

"  Just  think,  the  sun  is  two  hours  be- 


Sielanka.  101 

yond  noontime  and  we  have  not  yet  gath- 
ered any  plants.  Go  thon,  John,  to  the 
left  side  and  I  shall  go  the  right,  and  let 
us  begin.  We  should  hasten,  for  the  dear 
Lord's  sake." 

They  separated  and  went  into  the  woods, 
bat  not  far  from  one  another  and  in  a 
parallel  direction,  so  that  they  could  see 
each  other.  Among  the  ferns  between 
the  pine  trees  could  be  seen  fluttering  the 
vari-colored  skirt  and  yellow  kerchief  of 
Kasya.  The  slender,  supple  maiden 
seemed  to  float  amid  the  berry-laden 
bushes,  mosses  and  ferns.  You  would 
say  it  was  some  fairy  wila  or  rusalka  of 
the  woods;  every  moment  she  stooped  and 
stood  erect  again,  and  so,  further  and 
further,  passing  the  pine  trees,  she  en- 
tered deeper  into  the  forest  as  some 
spritely  nymph. 

Sometimes  the  thick  growth  of  young 
hemlocks  and  cedars  would  conceal  her 


102  Sielanka. 

from  view,  then  John  stopped,  and  put- 
ting his  hand  to  his  mouth  would  shout, 
"Halloo!  Halloo!" 

Kasya  heard  it;  she  stopped  with  a 
smile,  and  pretending  that  she  did  not 
see  him,  answered  in  a  high,  silvery 
voice: 

"John  I" 

The  echo  answers: 

"John!  John  !" 

Meanwhile  Burek  had  espied  a  squirrel 
tip  a  tree,  and,  standing  before  it  looking 
upward,  barked.  The  squirrel  sitting  on 
a  branch  covered  herself  with  her  tail  in  a 
mocking  manner,  lifted  her  forepaws  to 
her  mouth  and  rubbed  her  nose,  seemed 
to  play  with  her  forefingers,  make  gri- 
maces, and  laugh  at  the  anger  of  Burek. 
Kasya,  seeing  it,  laughed  with  a  resound- 
ing, silvery  tone,  and  so  did  John,  and  so 
the  woods  were  filled  with  the  sound  of 


Sielanka.  103 

human  voices,  echoes,  laughter  and  sunny 

joy- 
Sometimes  there  was  a  deep  silence,  and 
then  the  woods  seemed  to  speak;  the 
breeze  struck  the  fronds  of  the  ferns, 
which  emitted  a  sharp  sound;  the  trunks 
of  the  pines  swayed  and  creaked,  and 
there  was  silence  again. 

Then  could  be  heard  the  measured 
strokes  of  the  woodpecker.  It  seemed  as 
if  some  one  kept  knock — knocking  at  a 
door,  and  you  could  even  expect  that 
some  mysterious  voice  would  ask: 
"Who  is  there?" 

Again,  the  wood  thrush  was  whistling 
with  a  sweet  voice;  the  golden-crowned 
hammer  plumed  his  feathers.  In  the 
thicket  the  pheasants  clucked  and  the 
bright  green  humming  birds  flitted  be- 
tween the  leaves;  sometimes  on  the  top  of 
the  pine  tree  a  crow,  hiding  itself  from 


104:  Sielanka. 

the  heat  of  the  sun,   lazily  flapped  its 
wings. 

On  this  afternoon  the  weather  was  most 
clear,  the  sky  was  cloudless,  and  above  the 
green  canopy  of  the  leaves  there  spread 
out  the  blue  dome  of  the  heavens — im- 
mense, limitless,  transparently  gray-tinted 
on  the  sides  and  deep  blue  above.  In  the 
sky  stood  the  great  golden  sun;  the  space 
was  flooded  with  light;  the  air  was  bright 
and  serene,  and  far-oif  objects  stood  out 
distinctly,  their  forms  clearly  defined. 
From  the  height  of  heaven  the  eye  of  the 
great  Creator  embraced  the  whole  earth; 
in  the  fields  the  grain  bowed  to  Him  with 
a  golden  wave,  rustled  the  heavy  heads  of 
the  wheat,  and  the  delicate  tasseled  oats 
trembled  like  a  cluster  of  tiny  bells.  In 
the  air,  filled  with  brightness  here  and 
there,  floated  the  spring  thread  of  the 
spider's  web,  blue  from  the  azure  of  the 
sky  and  golden  from  the  sun,  as  if  a  veri- 


Sielanka.  105 

table  thread  from  the  loom  of  the  Mother 
of  God. 

In  the  vales  between  the  fields  of  the 
waving  grain  stood  dark-green  meadows; 
here  and  there  were  crystal  springs,  around 
whose  edges  the  grass  was  greener  still; 
the  whole  meadows  were  sprinkled  with 
yellow  buttercups  and  dandelions  which 
struck  the  eye  with  a  profusion  of  golden 
brightness.  In  the  wet  places  there  thrived 
cypress  trees,  which  had  an  air  of  coldness 
and  moisture. 

In  the  woods  among  the  pine  trees  there 
were  now  both  heat  and  silence.  It  seemed 
as  if  a  dreamy  stillness  enveloped  the 
whole  world.  Not  a  breath  of  wind  stirred; 
the  trees,  grain,  and  grass  were  motion- 
less. The  leaves  hung  on  the  trees  as  if 
rocked  to  sleep;  the  birds  had  ceased  their 
noises,  and  the  moment  of  rest  had  come. 
But  this  rest  seemed  to  come  from  an  in- 
effable sweetness,  and  all  nature  seemed 


106  Sielanka. 

to  meditate.  Only  the  great  expanse  of 
heaven  seemed  to  smile,  and  somewhere, 
high  in  the  unknowable  depths  of  its  bine, 
the  great  and  beneficent  God  was  glad 
with  the  gladness  of  the  fields,  the  woods, 
the  meadows,  and  the  waters. 

Kasya  and  John  were  still  busy  in  the 
woods  collecting  herbs,  laughing  gleefully 
and  speaking  to  each  other  joyfully.  Man 
is  as  artless  as  a  bird;  he  will  sing  when 
he  can,  for  this  is  his  nature.  John  now 
began  to  sing  a  simple  and  touching  song. 

As  Kasya  and  John  sang  in  unison  the 
last  refrain  of  the  song  ended  mournfully, 
and  as  if  in  accompaniment  the  echo  re- 
peated it  in  the  dark  depths  of  the  woods; 
the  pines  gave  resonance  as  the  words 
ran  between  their  trunks  and  died  away  in 
the  far  distance  like  a  sigh,  less  distinct, 
light,  ethereal;  then  silence. 

Later  Kasya  sang  a  more  cheerful  song, 
beginning  with  the  words: 


Sielanka.  107 

"  I  shall  become  a  ring  of  gold  now." 

This  is  a  good  song.  A  willful  young 
girl  quarrels  with  her  lover  and  enumerates 
the  means  she  intends  to  use  to  escape 
from  him.  But  it  is  useless.  "When  she 
says  that  she  will  be  a  golden  ring  and 
will  roll  away  on  the  road,  he  says  that  he 
will  quickly  see  and  recover  her.  When 
she  wants  to  be  a  golden  fish  in  the  water 
he  sings  to  her  of  the  silken  net;  when 
she  wants  to  be  a  wild  fowl  on  the  lake  he 
appears  before  her  as  a  hunter.  At  last 
the  poor  maiden,  seeing  she  is  unable  to 
hide  herself  from  him  on  the  earth, 
sings: 

"  I  shall  become  a  star  in  heaven, 
Light  to  earth  by  will  be  given. 
My  love  to  thee  I  shall  not  render, 
Nor  my  sweet  will  to  thee  surrender." 

But  the  undaunted  youth  answers: 


108  Sielanka. 

"  Then  shall  I  pray  to  the  saint's  grace 
'    That  the  star  may  fall  from  its  heavenly  place. 
Thy  love  to  me  thou  then  wilt  render, 
And  thy  sweet  will  to  me  surrender." 

The  maiden,  seeing  there  is  no  refuge 
either  in  heaven  or  on  earth  for  her, 
accepts  the  view  of  Providence  and  sings: 

"  I  see,  I  see,  fate's  decree  doth  bind  me; 
Where'er  I  hide,  thou  sure  wilt  find  me. 
My  love  to  thee  I  must  now  render, 
And  my  sweet  will  to  thee  surrender." 

John,  turning  to  Kasya,  said: 
"  Do  you  understand?" 
"What,  John? 
He  began  to  sing: 

"  Thy  love  to  me  thou  must  now  render, 
And  thy  sweet  will  to  me  surrender." 

Kasya  was  troubled,  and  laughed  loudly 
to  cover  her  confusion;  and  wishing  to 
speak,  she  said: 


Sielanka.  109 

"  I  have  gathered  a  large  lot  of  plants; 
it  would  be  well  to  dip  them  in  water,  for 
in  this  heat  they  will  wither." 

Verily  the  heat  was  great;  the  wind  had 
entirely  ceased.  In  the  woods,  though  in 
the  shade,  the  air  vibrated  with  moist 
heat,  the  pines  exuding  a  strong,  resin- 
ous odor.  The  delicate,  golden-tinted 
face  of  Kasya  was  touched  with  perspira- 
tion, and  her  blue  eyes  showed  traces  of 
weariness.  She  removed  the  kerchief 
from  her  head,  and  began  to  fan  herself. 
John,  taking  the  basket  from  her,  said: 

"  Here,  Kasya,  stand  two  aspen  trees, 
and  between  them  a  spring.  Come,  let  us 
drink." 

Both  went.  After  a  short  interval  they 
noticed  that  the  ground  of  the  forest 
began  to  slope  here.  Among  the  trees, 
instead  of  bushes,  ferns  and  dry  mosses, 
there  was  a  green,  damp  turf,  then  one 
aspen  tree,  then  another,  and  after  them 


110  Sielanka. 

whole  rows.  They  entered  into  this  dark, 
humid  retreat,  where  the  rays  of  the  sun, 
passing  through  the  leaves,  took  on  their 
color  and  reflected  on  the  human  face  a 
pale  green  light.  John  and  Kasya  de- 
scended lower  and  lower  into  the  shadows 
and  dampness;  a  chilliness  breathed  upon 
them,  refreshing  after  the  heat  of  the 
woods;  and  in  a  moment,  between  the 
rows  of  the  aspen  trees,  they  espied  in 
the  black  turf  a  deep  stream  of  water 
winding  its  way  under  and  through  canes 
and  bushy  thickets,  and  interspersed 
with  the  large,  round  leaves  of  the  water- 
lilies,  which  we  call  "  nenufars,"  and  by 
the  peasants  are  called  "  white  flowers. " 

Beautiful  was  this  spot,  quiet,  secluded, 
shady,  even  somewhat  sombre  and  solemn. 
The  transparent  stream  of  water  wound 
its  way  between  the  trees.  The  nenufars, 
touched  by  the  light  movement  of  the 
water,  swayed  gently  backward  and  for- 


Sielanka.  Ill 

ward,  leaning  toward  each  other  as  if  kiss- 
ing. Above  their  broad  leaves,  lying  like 
shields  on  the  surface  of  the  water, 
swarmed  indigo-colored  insects  with  wide, 
translucent,  sibilant  wings,  so  delicate  and 
fragile  that  they  are  justly  called  water- 
sprites.  Black  butterflies,  with  white- 
edged,  mournful  wings,  rested  on  the 
sharp,  slender  tops  of  the  tamarack.  On 
the  dark  turf  blossomed  blue  forget-me- 
nots.  On  the  edge  of  the  stream  grew 
some  alder  trees,  and  under  the  bushes 
peeped  out  heads  of  the  lily-of-the- 
valley,  bluebells  and  honeysuckles.  The 
white  heads  of  the  biedrzenica  hung  over 
the  waters;  the  silvery  threads  of  the 
strojka  spread  out  upon  the  current  of 
the  stream  and  weaved  themselves  into 
thin  and  long  strands;  besides — seclusion 
— a  wild  spot,  forgotten  by  men,  peace- 
ful, peopled  only  with  the  world  of  birds, 
flowers  and  insects. 


112  Sielanka. 

In  such  places  generally  dwell  nymphs, 
rusalki,  and  other  bad  or  good  forest 
sprites.  Kasya,  who  was  in  advance, 
stood  first  on  the  banks  of  the  stream  and 
looked  upon  the  water  in  which  was  re- 
flected her  graceful  form.  She  verily  ap- 
peared as  one  of  those  beautiful  forest 
spirits  as  they  are  seen  sometimes  by  the 
woodsmen  or  lumber  men  who  float  on 
their  rafts  down  the  rivers  through  the 
woods.  She  had  no  covering  upon  her 
head,  and  the  wind  gently  played  with 
her  locks  and  ruffled  her  ray-like  hair. 
Sunburned  she  was,  blond-haired,  and 
her  eyes,  as  blue  as  turquoise,  were  as 
laughing  as  her  lips.  Besides,  she  was 
a  divinely  tall,  slender,  and  fairy-like 
maiden.  No  one  could  swear,  if  she  was 
suddenly  startled,  that  she  would  not  jump 
into  the  water — would  not  dissolve  into 
mist — into  rainbow  rays — would  not  turn 
quickly  into  a  water-lily  or  kalina  tree, 


Sielanka.  113 

which,  when  robbed  of  its  flowers,  remon- 
strates with  a  voice  so  human,  yet  recall- 
ing the  sigh  of  the  forest: 
"  Don't  touch  me/' 

• 

Kasya,  bending  over  the  water  so  that 
her  tresses  fell  on  her  shoulders,  turned 
toward  John  and  said: 

"How  shall  we  drink?1 

"As  birds/'  answered  John,  pointing 
to  some  silver  pheasants  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  stream. 

John,  who  knew  how  to  help  himself 
better  than  the  birds,  plucked  a  large  leaf 
from  a  tree,  and,  making  a  funnel  out  of 
it,  filled  it  with  water  and  gave  it  to 
Kasya. 

They  both  drank,  then  Kasya  gathered 
some  forget-me-nots,  and  John  with  his 
knife  made  a  flute  from  the  willow  bark, 
on  which,  when  he  had  finished,  he  began 
to  play  the  air  which  the  shepherds  play 
in  the  eventide  on  the  meadows.  The 


114  Sielanka. 

soft  notes  floated  away  with  ineffable  ten- 
derness in  this  secluded  spot.  Shortly 
he  removed  the  flute  and  listened  intently 
as  if  to  catch  an  echo  returning  from  the 
aspen  trees,  and  it  seemed  that  the  clear 
stream,  the  dark  aspen  trees,  and  the  birds 
hidden  in  the  canes  listened  to  these  notes 
with  him. 

All  became  silent,  but  shortly,  as  if  in 
answer — as  if  a  challenge — came  the  first 
faint  note  of  the  nightingale,  followed  by 
a  stronger  trill.  The  nightingale  wanted 
to  sing — it  challenged  the  flute. 

Now  he  began  to  sing.  All  nature  was 
listening  to  this  divine  singer.  The  lilies 
lifted  their  heads  above  the  water;  the 
forget-me-nots  pressed  closer  together;  the 
canes  ceased  to  rustle;  no  bird  dared  to 
peep  except  an  unwise  and  absent-minded 
cuckoo,  who  with  her  silent  wing  alighted 
near  by  on  a  dry  bough,  lifted  her  head, 


Sielanka.  115 

widely  opened  her  beak,  and  foolishly 
called  aloud: 

"Cuckoo!  cuckoo!" 

Afterward  it  seemed  as  if  she  was 
ashamed  of  her  outbreak,  and  she  quietly 
subsided. 

Vainly  Kasya,  who  stood  on  the  edge  of 
the  stream  with  the  forget-me-nots  in  her 
hand,  turned  to  the  side  from  whence 
came  the  voice  of  the  cuckoo  and  queried: 

"Cuckoo,  blue-gray  cuckoo,  how  long 
shall  I  live?" 

The  cuckoo  answered  not. 

"  Cuckoo,  shall  I  be  rich?" 

The  cuckoo  was  silent. 

Then  John:  "Cuckoo,  gray  cuckoo, 
how  soon  will  I  wed?" 

The  cuckoo  replied  not. 

"  She  cares  not  to  answer  us,"  said 
John;  "  let  us  return  to  the  forest." 

On  returning  they  found  the  large  stone 
by  which  they  had  placed  the  basket  and 


116  Sielanka. 

bunches  of  herbs.  Kasya,  seating  herself 
beside  it,  began  to  weave  garlands,  and 
John  helped  her.  Burek  lay  near  them, 
stretched  his  hairy  forepaws,  lolled  out  his 
tongue  and  breathed  heavily  from  fatigue, 
looking  carefully  around  to  see  if  he  could 
not  spy  some  living  thing  to  chase  and 
enjoy  his  own  noise.  But  everything  in 
the  woods  was  quiet.  The  sun  was  travel- 
ing toward  the  west,  and  through  the 
leaves  and  the  needles  of  the  pines  shot 
his  rays,  becoming  more  and  more  red, 
covering  the  ground  of  the  woods  in  places 
with  great  golden  circles.  The  air  was 
dry;  in  the  west  were  spreading  great 
shafts  of  golden  light,  which  flooded  all 
like  an  ocean  of  molten  gold  and  amber. 
The  wondrous  beauties  of  the  peaceful, 
warm  spring  evening  were  glowing  in  the 
sky.  In  the  woods  the  daily  work  was 
gradually  ceasing.  The  noise  of  the  wood- 
pecker had  stopped;  black  and  bronzed 


Sielanka.  117 

aiits  returned  in  rows  to  their  hills,  which 
were  red  in  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun. 
Some  carried  in  their  months  pine  needles 
and  some  insects.  Among  the  herbs  here 
and  there  circled  small  forest  bees,  hum- 
ming joyfully  as  they  completed  their  last 
load  of  the  sweet  flower-dust.  From  the 
fissures  in  the  bark  of  the  trees  came 
gloomy  and  blind  millers;  in  the  streams 
of  the  golden  light  circled  swarms  of  midg- 
ets and  gnats  scarcely  visible  to  the  eye; 
mosquitoes  began  their  mournful  song. 
On  the  trees  the  birds  were  choosing  their 
places  for  the  night;  a  yellow  bird  was 
softly  whistling;  the  crows  flapped  their 
wings,  crowding  all  on  one  tree  and 
quarreling  about  the  best  places.  But 
these  voices  were  more  and  more  rare,  and 
became  fainter;  gradually  all  ceased,  and 
the  silence  was  interrupted  by  the  evening 
breeze  playing  among  the  trees.  The 
poplar  tree  tried  to  lift  her  bluish-green 


118  Sielanka. 

leaves  upward;  the  king-oak  murmured 
softly;  the  leaves  of  the  birch  tree  slightly 
moved — silence. 

Now  the  sky  became  more  red;  in  the 
east  the  horizon  became  dark  blue,  and  all 
the  voices  of  the  woods  merged  into  a 
chorus,  solemn,  deep  and  immense. 
Thus  the  forest  sings  its  evening  song  of 
praise,  and  says  its  prayers  before  it  sleeps; 
tree  speaks  to  tree  of  the  glory  of  God, 
and  you  would  say  that  it  spoke  with  a 
human  voice. 

Only  very  innocent  souls  understand 
this  great  and  blessed  speech.  Only  very 
innocent  hearts  hear  and  understand 
when  the  first  chorus  of  the  parent  oaks 
begins  its  strain: 

"  Rejoice,  0  sister  pines,  and  be  glad. 
The  Lord  hath  given  a  warm  and  peaceful 
day,  and  now  above  the  earth  He  makes 
the  starry  night.  Great  is  the  Lord,  and 
mighty,  powerful  and  good  is  He,  so  let 


Sielanka.  119 

there  be  glory  to  Him  upon  the  heights, 
upon  the  waters,  upon  the  lands,  and  upon 
the  air." 

And  the  pines  pondered  a  moment  upon 
the  words  of  the  oaks,  and  then  they 
raised  their  voices  together,  saying: 

"  Now,  0  Lord,  to  thy  great  glory,  we, 
as  censers,  offer  to  Thee  the  incense  of 
our  sweet-smelling  balsam,  strong,  resinous 
and  fragrant.  '  Our  Father,  who  art  in 
heaven,  hallowed  be  Thy  Name/" 

Then  the  birches  said : 

"  Thy  evening  brightness  illumines  the 
heavens,  0  Lord!  and  in  Thy  splendors 
our  small  leaves  golden  are  and  burning. 
Now  with  our  golden  leaves  we  sing  to 
Thee,  0  Lord,  and  our  delicate  twigs  play 
as  the  strings  of  the  harp,  0  good  Father 
of  ours!" 

Again  the  sorrowing  cypress  said: 

"Upon  our  sad  foreheads,  exhausted 
with  the  heat,  softly  falls  the  evening  dew. 


120  Sielanka. 

Praise  be  to  Thee,  0  Lord;  brothers  and 
sisters  rejoice,  because  there  falls  the  cool- 
ing dew." 

Amid  this  chorus  of  trees  the  aspen 
alone  trembles  and  is  afraid;  for  it  gave 
the  wood  for  the  Cross  of  the  Saviour  of 
the  world;  at  times  it  faintly  groans: 

"  0  Lord,  have  mercy  upon  me. 
Have  mercy  upon  me,  0  Lord." 

Again,  sometimes,  when  the  oaks  and 
pines  cease  for  a  moment,  there  rises  from 
under  their  feet  a  faint,  modest  voice,  low 
as  the  murmur  of  insects,  silent  as  silence 
itself,  which  says: 

"A  small  berry  am  I,  0  Lord,  and 
hidden  in  the  moss.  But  Thou  wilt  hear, 
discern  and  love  me;  though  small,  de- 
vout am  I,  and  sing  Thy  glory." 

Thus  every  evening  prays  the  forest, 
and  these  orchestral  sounds  rise  at  every 
sunset  from  earth  to  heaven — and  float 
high,  high,  reaching  where  there  is  no 


Sielanka.  121 

creature,  where  there  is  nothing  only  the 
silvery  dust  and  the  milky  way  of  the 
stars,  and  above  the  stars — God. 

At  this  moment  the  sun  hides  his 
radiant  head  in  the  far-distant  seas;  the 
farmer  turns  upward  his  plowshares  and 
hastens  to  his  cottage.  From  the  pastures 
return  the  bellowing  herds;  the  sheep 
raise  clouds  of  the  golden  dust.  The  twi- 
light falls;  in  the  village  creek  the  well 
sweeps;  later  the  windows  shine,  and 
from  the  distance  comes  the  barking  of 
the  dogs. 

The  sun  had  not  gone  beyond  the  woods 
when  Kasya  had  seated  herself  under  the 
mossy  stone  to  weave  her  garlands.  Its  rays 
were  thrown  upon  her  face,  broken  by  the 
shadows  of  the  leaves  and  twigs.  The 
work  did  not  proceed  rapidly,  for  Kasya 
was  tired  from  heat  and  running  in  the 
woods.  Her  sunburnt  hands  moved  slowly 
at  her  work.  The  warm  breeze  kissed  her 


122  Sielanka. 

temples  and  face,  and  the  voices  of  the 
forest  lulled  her  to  sleep.  Her  large  eyes 
became  heavy  and  drowsy;  her  eyelashes 
began  to  close  slowly;  she  leaned  her  head 
against  the  stone,  opened  her  eyes  once 
more  as  a  child  looking  upon  the  divine 
beauty  of  the  world;  then  the  noise  of  the 
trees,  the  rows  of  the  stumps,  the  ground 
full  of  pine  needles,  and  the  skies  that 
could  be  seen  between  the  branches  all 
became  indistinct,  darkened,  dissolved, 
disappeared — and  she  smiled  and  slept. 
Her  head  was  hidden  in  a  soft  shade,  but 
the  covering  of  her  breast  shone  all  rosy 
and  purple.  Her  soft  breathing  lifted 
her  bosom  gently;  so  wonderful  and 
beautiful  she  looked  in  this  quiet  sleep  in 
the  evening  rays  that  John  looked  upon 
her  as  if  upon  the  image  of  a  saint,  glorious 
with  gold,  and  colored  as  the  rainbow. 

Kasya's  hands  were  clinging  yet  to  the 
unfinished  garland  of  herbs.     She  slept 


Sielanka.  123 

with  a  sleep  light  and  sweet,  for  she  smiled 
through  her  dreams  as  a  child  who  speaks 
with  the  angels.  Perhaps  she  verily  con- 
versed with  angels,  for  pure  she  was  as  a 
child,  and  had  dedicated  her  whole  day  to 
the  service  of  God  by  gathering  and  weav- 
ing the  garlands  for  His  temple. 

John  was  sitting  by  her  side,  but  he  did 
not  sleep.  His  simple  breast  could  not 
contain  the  feelings  that  arose  there;  he 
felt  as  if  his  soul  had  got  wings  and  was 
preparing  to  fly  away  to  the  realms  of 
heaven.  He  knew  not  what  was  happen- 
ing to  him,  and  he  only  raised  his  eyes  to 
the  skies  and  was  motionless;  you  would 
say  that  love  had  transfigured  him. 

Kasya  slumbered  on,  and  for  a  long 
time  they  both  remained  there.  Mean- 
while the  dusk  came.  The  remnants  of 
the  purple  light  fought  with  the  darkness. 
The  interior  of  the  woods  deepened — be- 
came dumb.  From  the  canes  of  the  lake 


124:  Sielanka. 

near  the  glade  with  its  cottage  came  the 
buzzing  of  a  night  beetle. 

Suddenly  on  the  other  side  of  the  lake 
from  the  church  rang  out  the  Angelus 
bell.  Its  tones  floated  on  the  wings  of  the 
evening  breeze  over  the  face  of  the  quiet 
waters,  clear,  resonant,  and  distinct.  It 
called  the  faithful  to  prayer,  and  also  pro- 
claimed: "Rest!  Enough  of  work  and 
the  heat  of  the  day,"  spoke  the  bell. 
"  "Wrap  yourself  to  sleep  in  the  wing  of 
God.  Come,  come  ye  weary  to  Him — in 
Him  is  joy!  Here  is  peace!  here  gladness! 
here  sleep!  here  sleep!  here  sleep!" 

John  took  off  his  hat  at  the  sound  of 
the  bell,  Kasya  shook  the  sleep  from  her 
eyes,  and  said: 

"  The  bell  rings." 

"  For  the  Angel  of  the  Lord." 

Both  kneeled  near  by  the  mossy  stone 
as  if  before  an  altar.  Kasya,  began  to 
pray  with  a  low,  soft  voice; 


Sielanka.  125 

"  The  Angel  of  the  Lord  declared  unto 
Mary," 

"And  she  conceived  by  the  Holy 
Ghost,"  answered  John. 

"Behold  the  handmaiden  of  the  Lord; 
may  it  be  done  to  me  according  to  Thy 
word." 

Thus  kneeling,  prayed  these  children  of 
God.  The  silent  summer  lightning  shone 
from  the  east  to  the  west,  and  upon  its 
light  flew  down  from  heaven  a  radiant 
host  of  winged  angels,  and  hovered  above 
their  heads.  Then  they  blended  with  the 
angels  and  were  themselves  as  if  angels, 
for  upon  earth  there  were  no  two  souls 
more  bright,  more  pure,  more  innocent. 


BE  BLESSED. 


BE  BLESSED. 


ONCE,  on  a  bright  moonlight  night, 
wise  and  great  Krishna,  meditating  deep- 
ly, said:  "I  thought  that  man  was  the 
most  beautiful  creature  on  earth.  I  was 
mistaken.  Here  I  see  a  lotus  flower 
swayed  by  the  night  breeze.  Oh,  how 
much  more  beautiful  it  is  than  any  living 
being!  Its  petals  are  now  opened  to  the 
silvery  light  of  the  moon,  and  I  cannot 
take  my  eyes  from  it. 

"Yes,  there  is  nothing  like  it  among 
men,"  repeated  he,  with  a  sigh;  but  after 
awhile  he  thought:  "Why  could  not  I, 
being  a  god,  by  the  power  of  a  word  create 
a  being  that  would  be  the  same  among 
men  as  is  the  lotus  among  flowers?  For 
a  joy  to  men  on  earth,  therefore,  let  it  be 


130  Be  Blessed. 

so.  Lotus,  transform  thyself  into  a  living 
maiden,  and  stand  before  me." 

Then  the  water  vibrated  tenderly,  as  if 
touched  by  the  wing  of  a  swallow,  the 
night  became  clearer,  the  moon  beamed 
brighter,  stronger  trilled  the  note  of  the 
nightingale,  followed  by  a  deep  silence, 
and  the  miracle  was  done. 

There  before  Krishna  stood  the  lotus  in 
human  form  divine. 

The  god  himself  was  astonished. 

"  Thou  wert  a  flower  of  the  lake/*  he 
said;  "  be  now  a  flower  of  my  thought  and 
speak." 

And  the  maiden  began  to  whisper  as 
softly  as  the  rustling  of  the  white  petals 
of  the  lotus  kissed  by  the  summer  breeze. 

"Lord,  thou  hast  changed  me  into  a 
being  endowed  with  life;  where  wilt  thou 
command  me  to  abide?  Eemember,  Lord, 
that  when  I  was  a  flower  I  trembled  and 
folded  my  leaves  before  every  breath  of 


Be  Blessed.  131 

wind.  I  feared,  Lord,  the  rains  and  tem- 
pest; I  feared  the  thunder  and  lightning; 
I  feared  even  the  scorching  rays  of  the 
sun.  Thou  hast  told  me  to  be  an  embod- 
iment of  the  lotus,  therefore  I  have  pre- 
served my  former  nature;  and  now  I  fear, 
Lord,  the  earth  and  all  there  is  thereon. 
Where  wilt  thou  command  me  to  abide  ?" 

Krishna  lifted  his  wise  eyes  to  the  stars, 
mused  awhile,  then  said: 

"  Do  you  wish  to  dwell  on  the  moun- 
tain-tops?'* 

"  Snow  and  cold  are  there ;  I  fear 
them." 

"  Then  I  will  build  thee  a  crystal  palace 
in  the  clear  depths  of  the  lake." 

"  In  abysses  of  water  there  move  ser- 
pents and  other  monsters;  I  fear  them, 
Lord." 

"Do  you  wish  the  endless  plains?*' 

"  Oh,  Lord!  Storms  and  tempests  tram- 
ple the  plains  like  wild  herds." 


182  Be  Blessed. 

"  What,  then,  will  I  do  with  thee,  em- 
bodied flower?  Ah!  In  the  caves  of  Ellora 
live  holy  anchorites.  Dost  thou  wish  to 
dwell  there  far  away  from  the  world  in  a 
cave  with  them?" 

"It  is  dark  there,  Lord,  I  fear." 

Krishna  seated  himself  on  a  stone  and 
leaned  his  head  upon  his  hand;  the 
maiden  stood  before  him,  trembling  and 
afraid. 

Slowly  the  dawn  commenced  to  spread 
its  light  in  the  eastern  heavens,  the  golden 
glow  covered  the  lake,  palms,  and  bamboo 
groves.  The  choir  of  birds  burst  forth 
with  their  morning  song,  the  rosy  stork, 
the  bine  crane,  the  white  swan  on  the 
waters,  the  peacocks  and  bengali  in  the 
woods,  and,  as  if  in  accompaniment,  there 
came  the  sound  of  strings  fastened  to 
pearly  shells  and  the  words  of  human 
song. 


Be  Blessed.  133 

Krishna  awoke  from  his  deep  thought 
and  said: 

"It  is  the  poet  Valmiki,  greeting  the 
sunrise. " 

Then  parted  the  curtain  of  purple  flow- 
ers covering  the  vines,  and  on  the  edge  of 
the  lake  appeared  Valmiki. 

Seeing  the  embodied  lotus,  he  ceased 
playing,  the  pearly  shells  slipped  slowly 
from  his  hands,  his  arms  drooped  by  his 
side,  and  he  stood  speechless,  as  if  great 
Krishna  had  transformed  him  into  a  tree; 
and  the  god  was  glad  to  see  admiration  for 
his  work,  and  said: 

"Awake,  Valmiki,  and  speak." 

And  Valmiki  spoke:  "  I  love — "  This 
was  the  only  word  he  remembered  and  the 
only  word  he  could  utter. 

The  face  of  Krishna  suddenly  bright- 
ened. "Wondrous  maiden,  I  have  found 
in  the  world  the  place  worthy  of  theej 
dwell  in  the  heart  of  the  poet." 


134  Be  Blessed. 

Valmiki  repeated  the  second  time,  "  I 
love." 

The  will  of  the  mighty  Krishna,  the 
will  of  divinity  impelled  the  maiden  to 
the  heart  of  the  poet.  The  god  made, 
also,  the  heart  of  Valmiki  as  clear  as  crys- 
tal. Radiant  as  a  summer  day,  quiet  as  a 
wave  of  the  Ganges,  the  maiden  was  enter- 
ing into  her  appointed  dwelling-place;  but 
suddenly,  as  she  was  looking  into  the 
heart  of  Valmiki,  her  face  paled,  and  as  a 
chilling  wind  a  great  fear  enveloped  her, 
and  Krishna  wondered. 

"Embodied  flower/'  questioned  he, 
"  dost  thou  fear  even  the  heart  of  the 
poet?" 

"Lord,"  answered  the  maiden,  ''where 
dost  thou  command  me  to  dwell?  Behold 
in  this  one  heart  I  see  the  snowy  moun- 
tain-tops, the  watery  depths  full  of  won- 
drous creatures,  the  plains  with  the  storms 


Be  Blessed.  135 

and  tempests,  and  the  dark  Ellora  cave; 
so  I  fear  again,  oh,  Lord." 
But  good  and  wise  Krishna  said: 
"  Peace  be  unto  thee,  embodied  flower; 
if  in  Valmiki's  heart  lie  the  desolate 
snows,  be  thon  a  warm  breath  of  the 
spring  which  will  them  melt;  if  there  be 
watery  depths,  be  thou  a  pearl  in  those 
depths;  if  there  be  the  desert  plains,  plant 
thou  in  them  the  flowers  of  happiness;  if 
there  be  the  dark  Ellora  cave,  be  thon  in 
that  darkness  a  sunny  ray." 

And  Valmiki,  who  had  now  regained 
his  speech,  added:  "And  be  blessed." 


LIGHT  IN  DARKNESS. 


LIGHT  IN  DARKNESS. 

Lux  in  Tencbris  Lucet. 


THERE  come  sometimes  in  the  autumn, 
especially  in  November,  days  so  wet,  cold 
and  overcast  that  life  even  to  the  robust  is 
dreary.  Since  Kamiouka  fell  ill  and  had 
stopped  working  on  his  statue  of  "Mercy," 
the  bad  weather  annoyed  him  more  than 
his  illness.  Every  morning,  dragging 
himself  from  his  bed,  he  rubbed  off  the 
moisture  on  his  studio  window  and  looked 
up,  hoping  to  see  even  a  small  bit  of  blue 
sky,  but  every  morning  he  was  disap- 
pointed. 

Heavy,  leaden  mist  hung  over  the  earth; 
there  was  no  rain,  yet  even  the  cobble- 
stones looked  like  wet  sponges.  Every- 
thing was  damp  and  clammy,  soaked 


14:0  Light  in  Darkness. 

through  with  moisture,  and  the  water 
slowly  dripping  from  the  eaves  sounded 
with  a  monotony  of  despair,  as  if  measur- 
ing the  weary,  slowly  dragging  hours  of 
gloom. 

The  window  of  his  studio  faced  the  yard 
which  merged  into  the  garden.  The  grass 
beyond  the  fence  was  of  a  sickly  green  color, 
breathing  death  and  decomposition.  The 
trees,  with  their  few  remaining  yellow  leaves 
and  branches  black  from  moisture,  seemed 
ghost-like  through  the  mist.  Every  even- 
ing the  migrating  crows  would  roost  upon 
the  trees  and  add  to  the  desolation  by  their 
cawing  and  the  napping  of  their  wings. 

On  such  days  the  studio  became  as  dis- 
mal as  a  sepulchre.  Marble  and  plaster 
require  bright  weather,  but  in  this  leaden 
light  they  appeared  somber;  images  of 
dark  terra  cotta,  having  lost  distinctness 
of  outline,  seem  to  change  into  grewsome 
and  hideous  shapes. 


Light  in  Darkness.  141 

Dust  and  disorder  added  to  the  general 
melancholy;  the  floor  was  covered  with  a 
thick  layer  of  dirt,  caused  by  the  mixture 
of  crushed  terra  cotta  with  mud  from  the 
streets.  The  walls  were  dark,  ornamented 
here  and  there  with  plaster  models  of 
hands  and  feet.  Not  far  from  the  win- 
dow hung  a  mirror,  and  over  it  was  the 
skeleton  head  of  a  horse  and  a  bunch  of 
makart  everlasting  flowers,  totally  black- 
ened by  dust. 

In  a  corner  stood  a  bed  with  an  old 
cover,  and  by  its  side  a  bureau  with  an 
iron  candlestick  on  it.  For  the  sake  of 
economy  Kamionka  slept  in  his  studio; 
generally  the  bed  was  concealed  by  screens, 
but  now  they  were  removed  to  allow  the 
sick  man  to  look  out  of  the  window.  The 
larger  window  in  the  roof  was  so  covered 
with  grime  and  dirt  that  the  light  that 
filtered  through  it  even  in  bright  weather 
was  gray  and  melancholy. 


142  Light  in  Darkness. 

Still  good  weather  did  not  come.  After 
several  days  of  gloom,  the  clouds  lowered 
and  a  heavy,  dark  mist  settled  over  the 
laud.  Kamionka,  who  was  lying  on  his 
bed  with  his  clothes  on,  feeling  worse,  got 
up  and  removed  his  clothes  and  went  to 
bed. 

Properly  speaking,  he  was  not  suffering 
so  much  from  any  particular  disease  as  he 
was  depressed,  discouraged,  exhausted, 
and  desponding.  He  had  no  desire  to 
die,  yet  he  felt  he  had  hardly  strength 
enough  to  live. 

The  long  hours  of  the  murky  day  seemed 
still  longer  because  he  was  alone.  His 
wife  had  died  twenty  years  ago;  his  rela- 
tives dwelt  in  other  parts  of  the  country, 
and  he  kept  aloof  from  his  colleagues;  his 
acquaintances  gradually  ceased  all  inter- 
course with  him  on  account  of  his  ever- 
increasing  irritability  of  temper.  In  the 
beginning  his  disposition  amused  people, 


Light  in  Darkness.  143 

but  later  he  became  more  and  more 
morose,  so  that  even  the  slightest  pleas- 
antry provoked  lasting  umbrage,  and  his 
nearest  friends  were  compelled  to  break 
all  relations  with  him. 

About  this  time  he  became  devout  in 
his  religious  observances;  but  his  intimates 
questioned  his  sincerity,  and  evil-disposed 
persons  said  that  he  spent  his  time  in 
churches  so  as  to  influence  the  priests  to 
give  him  orders  for  sculpturing.  That 
was  not  true.  It  may  have  been  that  his 
devotion  did  not  arise  from  a  deep  and 
settled  conviction,  but  it  was  not  self- 
seeking. 

If  there  was  any  grounds  for  these  sus- 
picions against  him,  it  was  strengthened 
by  the  fact  that  Kamionka  became  a 
miser.  For  the  sake  of  economy,  he  lived 
for  several  years  in  his  studio,  denying 
himself  proper  nourishment.  His  face 
became  transparent  and  yellow  as  if  made 


144  Light  in  Darkness. 

of  wax;  he  concealed  himself  from  others, 
BO  that  he  might  not  be  called  upon  to 
perform  any  small  service. 

Generally  speaking,  he  was  a  man  of 
distorted  character,  bitter,  and  very  un- 
happy. Yet  he  was  not  a  common 
nature,  for  even  his  evil  side  possessed 
artistic  qualities.  They  were  mistaken  who 
thought  that,  owing  to  his  miserly  habits, 
he  had  accumulated  a  large  fortune,  for 
in  truth,  Kamionka  was  a  poor  man,  for 
all  that  he  earned  he  spent  on  mosaics,  of 
which  he  had  a  large  collection  in  the 
bottom  of  his  bureau,  and  which  from 
time  to  time  he  looked  over  and  counted 
with  the  secrecy  and  avidity  of  a  usurer 
counting  his  treasures.  This  weakness 
he  carefully  concealed  from  others,  per- 
haps owing  to  the  fact  that  it  thrived  on 
the  soil  of  a  great  sorrow  and  a  great 
love. 

About  a  year  after  the  death  of  his  wife 


Light  in  Darkness.  145 

he  once  saw  in  the  shop  of  an  antiquarian 
an  old  engraving  representing  Armida, 
and  in  the  face  of  Armida  he  traced  a 
likeness  to  that  of  his  wife.  He  bought 
the  engraving,  and  afterward  he  became 
an  enthusiastic  collector  of  engravings 
representing  not  only  Armida,  but  other 
subjects  also. 

Those  who  have  lost  their  dear  ones  must 
interest  themselves  in  something,  otherwise 
they  could  not  exist.  Concerning  Kami- 
onka,  no  one  could  guess  that  this  strange, 
selfish  man,  had  loved  his  wife  more  than 
his  own  life;  perhaps  if  she  had  not  died, 
the  current  of  his  life  would  have  flowed 
peacefully,  broadly,  and  humanly;  as  it 
was,  this  love  survived  his  happier  days, 
his  youth  and  even  his  art. 

This  devotion  to  church  at  first  grew 
out  of  his  love,  but  afterward  became  a 
matter  of  habit  to  him,  observing  merely 
the  outward  forms. 


146  Light  in  Darkness. 

Kamionka  was  not  one  who  possessed  a 
realizing  faith.  Yet,  after  the  death  of 
his  wife  he  began  to  pray  for  the  repose 
of  her  soul,  as  it  seemed  the  only  thing 
he  conld  do  for  her,  and  thus  his  love 
reached  across  the  narrow  rill  of  death. 

Some  natures,  outwardly  cold,  often 
possess  the  quality  of  a  strong  and  endur- 
ing love.  After  her  death,  his  whole  life 
and  all  his  thoughts  entwined  around  her 
memory  and  fed  upon  it  as  the  parasite 
plant  thrives  on  the  dead  tree  to  which  it 
is  attached.  A  memory  thus  fashioned 
upon  raw  regrets  and  suffering  can  but 
have  a  baneful  influence  upon  the  human 
soul,  and  Kamionka,  who  completely  suc- 
cumbed to  these  influences,  was  rapidly 
breaking  up. 

Had  he  not  been  an  artist,  he  could  not 
have  survived  his  loss  so  long,  but  his 
calling  served  him  in  this  wise,  that  after 
her  death  he  began  to  sculpture  figures 


Light  in  Darkness.  147 

for  her  monument.  It  is  useless  to  tell 
the  living  that  the  dead  care  little  where 
they  lie.  Kamionka  desired  that  the  last 
resting  place  of  his  Sophia  should  be  very 
beautiful,  and  his  work  on  her  monu- 
ment was  a  labor  of  love.  This  was  the 
reason  that  he  did  not  become  insane  in 
the  first  six  months  of  his  deep  anguish, 
and  he  gradually  learned  to  live  with  his 
despair. 

The  man's  life  was  warped  and  un- 
happy, but  the  art  saved  the  artist.  From 
that  time  on,  Kamionka  existed  only  for 
his  art.  Those  who  observe  statuary  and 
pictures  in  the  galleries,  rarely  think  that 
an  artist  can  serve  his  art  honestly  or  dis- 
honestly. He  did  not  possess  great 
genius,  but  had  an  ability  somewhat  above 
the  average,  and  perhaps  on  this  account 
his  art  did  not  fill  his  life  absolutely  nor 
replace  his  loss,  yet  he  respected  it  deeply 
and  always  was  sincere  regarding  it. 


14:8  Light  in  Darkness. 

Through  the  long  years  of  his  calling  he 
never  cheated  or  wronged  it;  not  for 
glory,  not  for  money,  not  for  praise  or 
for  blame.  According  to  his  inspiration, 
he  created  in  his  happier  days,  when  he 
lived  like  other  men;  he  spoke  of  art  with 
gloomy  eloquence,  showing  discrimination 
and  knowledge;  and  in  later  days,  when 
forsaken  by  his  friends,  alone  in  his 
studio,  he  meditated  upon  it  with  honesty 
and  reverence. 

Human  relations  must  hold  some 
strange  secret  which  cause  friends  to  de- 
sert the  unhappy,  who  for  the  same  reason 
become  overgrown  with  idiosyncrasies 
just  as  a  stone  thrown  out  from  the  stream 
becomes  covered  with  moss,  having  ceased 
to  have  friction  with  other  stones.  When 
Kamionka  became  sick,  no  one  called 
upon  him  except  his  servant,  who  came 
to  make  tea  for  him.  At  every  call  she 


Light  in  Darkness.  149 

entreated  him  to  get  a  doctor,  but  he, 
fearing  the  expense,  refused  to  do  so. 

He  became  very -weak  at  last,  perhaps 
because  he  took  no  nourishment,  except 
tea.  He  had  no  inclination  to  either  eat, 
work,  or  live.  His  thoughts  were  as  life- 
less as  the  faded  leaves  on  the  trees  out- 
side, and  corresponded  with  autumnal 
leaden  darkness  and  desolation. 

There  are  no  sadder  moments  than 
those  in  which  a  man  realizes  that  what 
he  had  to  do  he  has  done,  that  he  has 
lived  his  life,  and  nothing  remains  for  him 
in  this  world.  For  the  last  fifteen  years, 
Kamionka  lived  in  constant  fear  that  his 
talents  were  fading.  Now  he  was  sure  of 
it,  and  in  the  bitterness  of  his  heart  he 
felt  his  art  escaping  him,  and  besides  he 
was  exhausted  and  weak  in  every  bone. 
He  did  not  expect  an  early  death,  but  he 
despaired  of  ever  regaining  his  health  and 


150  Light  in  Darkness. 


o 


strength,  and  did  not  possess  a  solitary 
ray  of  hope. 

The  only  desire  that  he  really  had  was 
that  the  weather  would  clear  up,  and  the 
sun  shine  again  in  his  studio.  He  thought 
perhaps  that  would  cheer  him;  he  always 
was  especially  sensitive  to  dark,  dull, 
damp  weather  and  in  such  days  his  grief 
and  depression  increased. 

Every  morning  when  the  servant 
brought  him  his  tea,  he  asked  her: 

"  Is  there  any  indication  of  the  weather 
clearing?" 

She  replied: 

"  The  fog  is  so  thick  that  we  cannot 
see  each  other." 

The  sick  man  after  hearing  such  an 
answer  would  shut  his  eyes  and  remain 
motionless  for  hours. 

Outside  all  was  still,  except  the  monot- 
onous dropping  of  water  from  the  eaves. 

At  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  it  was 


Light  in  Darkness.  151 

so  dark,  that  Kamionka  was  compelled  to 
light  a  candle,  which  he  did  with  great 
difficulty,  owing  to  his  weakness.  As  he 
reached  for  the  matches  he  observed  the 
emaciated  condition  of  his  arms,  and 
their  appearance  wounded  his  artistic 
sense. 

The  flickering  of  the  candle  light  filled 
his  studio  with  weird  shapes  and  shadows. 
The  light  of  the  candle  fell  directly  on 
Kamionka's  forehead,  from  which  it  was 
reflected  as  if  from  a  polished  yellow  sur- 
face. The  rest  of  the  room  was  in  a  dark 
shadow  which  every  moment  deepened. 
When  it  became  totally  dark  outside,  the 
statuary  in  the  studio  assumed  an  anima- 
tion of  outline,  as  if  standing  out  in  relief 
from  the  blackness,  and  in  the  rising  and 
falling  beams  of  the  candle,  the  statues 
seemed  to  be  rising  on  tiptoe,  as  if  to 
peer  in  the  emaciated  face  of  the  sculptor 
to  find  out  if  their  creator  were  yet  alive. 


152  Light  in  Darkness. 

Indeed,  his  face  bore  the  fixedness  of 
death,  though  occasionally  the  thin  blue 
lips  of  the  sick  man  moved  slightly  as  if 
praying,  or  perhaps  cursing  his.  loneliness, 
and  the  exasperating  regularity  of  the 
dripping  eaves,  which  seemed  to  slowly 
measure  ofE  the  dreary  hours  of  his  ill- 
ness. 

That  evening  his  servant  appeared 
slightly  tipsy,  which  made  her  more 
loquacious  than  usual. 

She  said  to  him: 

"  I  have  so  much  work  to  do  that  I  can 
only  come  twice  a  day  to  attend  you,  had 
you  not  better  call  in  a  good  Sister  of 
Mercy?  it  will  cost  you  nothing  and  she 
will  nurse  you  better  than  I  can/* 

Although  Kamionka  was  inwardly 
pleased  with  this  suggestion,  so  contra- 
dictory was  his  disposition  that  he  re- 
jected it. 

After  the  departure  of  the  servant  he 


Light  in  Darkness.  153 

began  to  think  of  it.  "  Sister  of  Mercy. 
Ay!  she  does  not  cost  anything,  and  be- 
sides what  a  help  and  comfort!"  Like  all 
sick  people  Kamionka  conjured  up  a 
multitude  of  imaginary  ills,  and  combated 
a  thousand  of  petty  miseries,  all  of  which 
added  to  his  annoyance  and  impatience. 
For  hours  he  would  lie  with  his  head  in  a 
most  uncomfortable  position  before  he 
would  make  any  attempt  to  change  his 
pillow.  Often  when  he  was  cold  at  night 
he  longed  for  a  cup  of  tea,  but  if  it  was 
difficult  for  him  to  light  a  candle  how 
much  more  so  would  it  be  for  him  to  boil 
water.  A  Sister  of  Mercy  would  do  all 
this  for  him  with  her  usual  kind  thought- 
fulness;  such  help  would  rob  his  sickness 
of  half  its  terrors;  he  at  last  arrived  at  the 
conclusion  that  illness  under  such  con- 
ditions would  be -desirable  and  fortunate, 
and  he  wondered  iu  his  heart  if  this  poor 
happiness  were  accessible  to  him. 


154  Light  in  Darkness. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  if  a  good  Sister 
would  only  bring  to  his  studio  her  peace- 
ful serenity  and  quiet  cheer  then  perhaps 
the  weather  might  clear  up  and  the  eternal 
drip-dripping  of  the  eaves  would  cease  to 
persecute  him. 

He  regretted  at  last  that  he  had  riot  ac- 
cepted the  advice  of  the  servant.  The 
long  and  dreary  night  was  approaching. 
She  would  not  appear  until  the  following 
morning.  He  felt  that  this  night  would 
be  worse  than  others. 

Then  he  thought  what  a  great  sufferer 
he  was,  and  compared  his  present  with  the 
happy  years  of  long  ago,  which  stood  out 
vividly  In  his  mind.  As  previously  he 
had  connected  the  good  Sister  in  his 
weakened  mind  with  fair,  bright  weather, 
the  memory  of  those  bygone  happy  days 
conjured  up  scenes  of  sunshine,  light  and 

joy- 
He  began  then  to  meditate  upon  his 


Light  in  Darkness.  155 

dead  wife,  and  talked  to  her  as  if  she  were 
present,  as  he  always  used  to  do  when  he 
felt  badly.  In  the  end  he  got  tired,  felt 
weaker,  and  dozed  off. 

The  candle  standing  on  the  bureau 
burned  low  in  the  socket,  its  flame  became 
blue,  then  flickered  strongly,  and  at  last 
went  out.  The  studio  was  filled  with 
darkness. 

Meanwhile  the  eaves  kept  dripping; 
drop  by  drop  the  water  fell  with  dismal 
regularity  as  if  distilling  all  the  sin, 
sorrow  and  sadness  that  pervades  nature. 

Kamionka  had  a  long  and  refreshing 
sleep;  he  awoke  suddenly  with  a  feeling 
that  something  extraordinary  had  hap- 
pened in  the  studio.  The  morning  had 
dawned  brightly.  The  marble  and  plaster 
looked  white.  The  wide  Venetian  window 
opposite  his  bed  transmitted  the  glorious 
light. 


156  Light  in  Darkness. 

Bathed  in  this  brightness  Kamionka 
saw  a  figure  sitting  by  his  bedside. 

He  opened  wide  his  eyes  and  gazed 
intently;  it  was  a  Sister  of  Mercy.  Sit- 
ting there  motionless,  her  face  turned 
slightly  toward  the  window,  her  head 
bent,  her  hands  were  folded  in  her  lap  and 
she  seemed  to  pray.  The  patient  could 
not  discern  her  face,  but  instead  he  saw 
clearly  her  white  hood  and  the  dark  out- 
line of  the  delicate  arms. 

His  heart  commenced  to  beat  quickly 
and  rapidly,  as  through  his  brain  ran  these 
questions: 

"  When  did  the  servant  bring  this  Sister, 
and  how  did  she  enter?" 

Again  he  thought  that  it  was  an  optical 
illusion,  owing  to  his  weakness,  and  he 
shut  his  eyes. 

A  moment  later  he  opened  them  again, 

The  Sister  was  sitting  in  the  same  place, 


Light  in  Darkness.  157 

motionless  as  before,  as  if  absorbed  in 
prayer. 

A  strange  feeling,  composed  of  fear  and 
great  joy,  arose  in  him.  Some  unknown 
force  attracted  his  gaze  to  this  figure.  It 
seemed  to  him  as  if  he  had  seen  it  some- 
where before,  but  where  and  when  he 
could  not  recall.  Then  arose  in  him  an 
irresistible  desire  to  behold  the  face,  but 
the  white  hood  concealed  it.  Kamionka, 
without  knowing  why,  did  not  dare  to 
speak,  to  move,  or  breathe.  The  feeling 
of  fear  and  joy  grew  stronger  in  him,  and 
he  mentally  queried,  "What  is  it?" 

Meanwhile  the  dawn  had  merged  into  a 
radiant  morning.  How  beautiful  all  nature 
must  look  outside!  Suddenly  the  studio 
was  filled  with  a  glorious  supernatural 
light.  The  waves  of  golden  brightness  as 
of  some  mighty  tide  inundated  the  room 
so  powerfully  that  the  marble  statuary 
was  drowned  and  melted  in  its  glow,  and 


158  Light  in  Darkness. 

the  walls  receded  and  disappeared,  and 
Kamionka  found  himself  in  a  luminous, 
limitless  space. 

Then  he  saw  the  white  hood  of  the  nun 
lose  its  shape,  vibrate  on  its  edges,  fade 
and  float  away  as  a  bright  mist  submerged 
with  sunlight. 

The  Sister  slowly  turned  her  face  toward 
him,  and  suddenly  this  lonely,  despairing 
sufferer  saw  in  a  brilliant  aureole  the  well- 
known  and  beloved  face  of  his  wife. 

He  sprang  from  his  bed,  and  a  cry 
escaped  him  in  which  were  embodied  all 
those  years  of  sorrow,  suffering  and  de- 
spair. 

"Sophia!  Sophia!"  He  pressed  her 
closely  to  his  breast  and  she  put  her  arms 
around  his  neck. 

The  light  became  more  glorious  still. 

"  You  have  not  forgotten  me,"  she  said 
at  last.  "  Having  gained  by  my  prayers; 
an  easy  death  for  you,  I  have,  comes"' 


Light  in  Darkness.  159 

Kamionka  held  her  tightly  in  his  em- 
brace, as  if  fearing  this  blessed  vision,  to- 
gether with  this  wondrous  light,  would 
escape  him. 

"  I  am  ready  to  die,"  he  answers,  "  if 
you  only  remain  with  me." 

She  smiled  with  an  angelic  smile;  re- 
moving one  hand  from  his  neck  and  point- 
ing downward,  she  said: 

"You  have  died  already;  look  yonder!" 

Kamionka  followed  the  direction  of  her 
finger.  There,  under  his  feet,  through 
the  window  in  the  roof,  he  saw  the  inside 
of  his  gloomy,  lonesome  studio,  and  on  his 
bed  lay  his  own  body,  with  mouth  wide 
open  and  staring  eyes. 

He  looked  on  this  emaciated  body  as 
something  foreign  to  him,  and  shortly  all 
this  receded  from  his  view.  The  bright- 
ness surrounding  them,  as  if  impelled  by 
a  wind  from  an  unseen  world,  lifted  them 
together  into  infinitude. 


ORSO. 


ORSO. 

THE  last  days  of  autumn  in  Anaheim,  a 
town  situated  in  Southern  California,  are 
days  of  joy  and  celebration.  The  grape 
gathering  is  finished  and  the  town  is 
crowded  with  the  vineyard  hands.  There 
is  nothing  more  picturesque  than  the 
sight  of  these  people,  composed  partly  of 
a  sprinkling  of  Mexicans,  but  mainly  of 
Cahuilla  Indians,  who  come  from  the 
wild  mountains  of  San  Bernardino  to  earn 
some  money  by  gathering  grapes.  They 
scatter  through  the  streets  and  market 
places,  called  lolas,  where  they  sleep  in 
tents  or  under  the  roof  of  the  sky,  which 
is  always  clear  at  this  time  of  the  year. 
This  beautiful  city,  surrounded  with  its 
growths  of  eucalyptus,  olive,  castor,  and 


164:  Orso. 

pepper  trees,  is  filled  with  the  noisy 
conf nsion  of  a  fair,  which  strangely  con- 
trasts with  the  deep  and  solemn  silence 
of  the  plains,  covered  with  cacti,  just  be- 
yond the  vineyards.  In  the  evening,  when 
the  sun  hides  his  radiant  head  in  the 
depths  of  the  ocean,  and  upon  the  rosy 
sky  are  seen  in  its  light  the  equally  rosy- 
tinted  wings  of  the  wild  geese,  ducks, 
pelicans  and  cranes,  descending  by  the 
thousands  from  the  mountains  to  the 
ocean,  then  in  the  town  the  lights  are  lit 
and  the  evening  amusements  begin.  The 
negro  minstrels  play  on  bones,  and  by  the 
campfires  can  be  heard  the  picking  of 
the  banjo;  the  Mexicans  dance  on  an  out- 
spread poncha  their  favorite  bolero;  In- 
dians join  in  the  dance,  holding  in  their 
teeth  long  white  sticks  of  kiotte,  or  beat- 
ing time  with  their  hands,  and  exclaiming, 
"E  viva;"  the  fires,  fed  with  redwood, 
crackle  as  they  blaze,  sending  up  clouds 


Orso.  165 

of  bright  sparks,  and  by  its  reflection 
can  be  seen  the  dancing  figures,  and 
around  them  the  local  settlers  with  their 
comely  wives  and  sisters  watching  the 
scene. 

The  day  on  which  the  juice  from  the 
last  bunch  of  grapes  is  trampled  out  by 
the  feet  of  the  Indians  is  generally  cele- 
brated by  the  advent  of  Hirsch's  Circus, 
from  Los  Angeles.  The  proprietor  of  the 
circus  is  a  German,  and  besides  owns  a 
menagerie  composed  of  monkeys,  jaguars, 
pumas,  African  lions,  one  elephant,  and 
several  parrots,  childish  with  age — "  TJie 
greatest  attraction  of  the  world"  The 
Cahuilla  will  give  his  last  peso,  if  he  has 
not  spent  it  on  drink,  to  see  not  only  wild 
animals — for  these  abound  in  the  San 
Bernardino  Mountains — but  to  see  the 
circus  girls,  athletes,  clowns,  and  all  its 
wonders,  which  seem  to  him  as  "  a  great 
medicine " — that  is,  magical  feats,  impossi- 


166  Orso. 

ble  of  accomplishment  except  by  the  aid 
of  supernatural  powers. 

Mr.  Hirsch,  the  proprietor  of  the  circus, 
would  be  very  angry  with  any  one  who 
would  dare  to  say  that  his  circus  only  at- 
tracted Mexicans,  Indians,  and  Chinese. 
Certainly  not;  the  arrival  of  the  circus 
brings  hither  not  only  the  people  of  the 
town  and  vicinity,  but  even  those  of  the 
neighboring  towns  of  Westminster,  Or- 
ange, and  Los  Nietos.  Orange  Street  is 
crowded  with  buggies  and  wagons  of  divers 
shapes,  so  that  it  is  difficult  to  get  through. 
The  whole  world  of  settlers  come  as  one 
man.  Young,  bright  girls,  with  their 
hair  prettily  banged  over  their  eyes,  sitting 
on  the  front  seats,  drive  some  of  these 
vehicles,  and  gracefully  upset  passing  pe- 
destrians, chatter  and  show  their  white 
teeth;  the  Spanish  senoritas  from  Los 
Nietos  cover  you  with  their  warm,  ardent 
glances  from  under  their  lace  mantillas; 


Orso.  167 

the  married  women  from  the  country, 
dressed  in  their  latest  and  best  fashions, 
lean  with  pride  on  the  arms  of  the  snn- 
burned  farmers,  who  are  dressed  in  old 
hats,  jean  pants,  and  flannel  shirts,  fas- 
tened with  hook  and  eye,  and  without 
neckties. 

All  these  people  meet  and  greet  each 
other,  gossip,  and  the  women  inspect  with 
critical  eye  the  dresses  of  their  neighbors, 
to  see  if  they  are  "  very  fashionable." 

Among  the  buggies  are  some  covered 
with  flowers,  which  look  like  huge  bou- 
quets; the  young  men,  mounted  on  mus- 
tangs, bend  from  their  high  Mexican 
saddles  and  peer  under  the  hats  of  the 
young  girls;  the  half-wild  horses,  fright- 
ened by  the  noise  and  confusion,  look  here 
and  there  with  their  bloodshot  eyes,  curvet, 
rear,  and  try  to  unseat  their  riders,  but 
the  cool  riders  seem  to  pay  no  attention  to 
them. 


168  Orso. 

They  all  speak  of  "  the  greatest  attrac- 
tion/' which  was  about  to  excel  every- 
thing that  had  been  seen  before.  Truly 
the  flaming  posters  announced  genuine 
wonders.  The  proprietor,  Hirsch,  that 
renowned  ' '  artist  of  the  whip,"  will  in  the 
arena  give  a  contest  with  a  fierce,  untamed 
African  lion.  The  lion,  according  to  the 
programme,  springs  upon  the  proprietor, 
whose  only  defense  is  his  whip.  This 
simple  weapon  in  his  hands  (according  to 
the  programme)  will  change  itself  into  a 
fiery  sword  and  shield.  The  end  of  this 
whip  will  sting  as  a  rattlesnake,  flash  as 
lightning,  shoot  as  a  thunderbolt,  and 
keep  at  a  proper  distance  the  enraged 
monster,  who  vainly  roars  and  tries  to 
jump  on  the  artist.  This  is  not  the  end 
yet:  sixteen-year-old  Orso,  an  "American 
Hercules,"  born  of  a  white  father  and  In- 
dian mother,  will  carry  around  six  people, 
three  on  each  shoulder;  besides  this,  the 


Orso.  169 

management  offers  one  hundred  dollars 
to  any  man,  regardless  of  color,  who 
can  throw  Orso  in  a  wrestling  match.  A 
rumor  arose  in  Anaheim  that  from  the 
mountains  of  San  Bernardino  comes  for 
this  purpose  the  "Grizzly  Killer,"  a 
hunter  who  was  celebrated  for  his  bravery 
and  strength,  and  who,  since  California 
was  settled,  was  the  first  man  who  attacked 
these  great  bears  single-handed  and  armed 
only  with  a  knife.  It  is  the  probable  vic- 
tory of  the  "  Grizzly  Killer"  over  the  six- 
teen-year-old athlete  of  the  circus  that 
highly  excites  the  minds  of  the  males  of 
Anaheim,  because  if  Orso,  who  until  now, 
from  the  Atlantic  to  the  Pacific,  had  over- 
thrown the  strongest  Americans,  will  be 
defeated,  great  glory  will  cover  all  Cali- 
fornia. The  feminine  minds  are  not 
less  excited  by  the  following  number  of 
the  programme:  Orso  will  carry,  on  a  pole 
thirty  feet  high,  a  small  fairy,  the  "Won- 


1TO  Orso. 

der  of  the  World,"  of  which  the  poster 
says  that  she  is  the  most  beautiful  girl 
that  ever  lived  on  this  earth  since  the  be- 
ginning of  the  "  Christian  Era."  Though 
she  is  only  thirteen  years  of  age,  the  man- 
agement also  offers  one  hundred  dollars 
to  every  maiden,  "  without  regard  to 
color  of  skin,"  who  will  dare  to  compete 
and  wrest  the  palm  of  beauty  from  this 
"Aerial  Angel."  The  maidens  of  Ana- 
heim, both  great  and  small,  make  grimaces 
on  reading  this,  and  say  that  it  would 
not  be  ladylike  to  enter  such  a  contest. 
Nevertheless  they  gladly  surrender  the 
comfort  of  their  rocking  chairs  rather  than 
miss  the  show  and  the  chance  of  seeing 
their  childish  rival,  in  whose  beauty,  in 
comparison  with  the  sisters  Bimpa,  for  in- 
stance, none  of  them  believed.  The  two 
sisters  Bimpa,  the  elder  Refugio,  and  the 
younger  Mercedes,  sitting  gracefully  in  a 
handsome  buggy,  are  now  reading  the 


Oreo.  1Y1 

posters;  their  faces  show  no  trace  of  emo- 
tion, though  they  feel  that  the  eyes  of 
Anaheim  are  on  them,  as  if  supplicating 
them  to  save  the  honor  of  the  whole 
county,  and  with  a  patriotic  pride,  founded 
upon  the  conviction  that  there  is  none 
more  beautiful  than  these  two  California 
flowers  in  all  the  mountains  and  canons 
of  the  whole  world.  Oh,  beautiful  indeed 
are  the  sisters  Ref  ugio  and  Mercedes ! 
Not  in  vain  does  the  pure  Castilian  blood 
flow  in  their  veins,  to  which  their  mother 
constantly  refers,  showing  her  disdain 
for  all  colored  races,  as  well  as  for  the 
Americans. 

The  figures  of  the  sisters  are  slender, 
subtle,  and  full  of  mysterious  grace,  quiet, 
and  so  luxurious  that  they  greatly  im- 
press all  young  men  who  come  near 
them.  From  Donnas  Eefugio  and  Mer- 
cedes exhales  a  charm  as  the  fragrance 
from  the  magnolia  and  the  lily.  Their 


172  Orso. 

faces  are  delicate,  complexions  transparent 
with  a  slight  rosy  tint,  as  if  illumed  with 
the  dawn;  the  eyes  dark  and  dreamy, 
sweet,  innocent,  and  tender  in  their 
glances.  "Wrapped  in  muslin  rebosos,  they 
sit  in  their  buggy  adorned  with  flowers, 
pure  and  innocent,  unconscious  of  their 
own  beauty.  Anaheim  looked  upon  them, 
devoured  them  with  its  eyes,  was  proud  of 
them,  and  loved  them.  Who  then  is  this 
"Jenny,"  that  can  win  victory  over  these? 
"  Truly,"  the  Saturday  Review  wrote, 
"  when  little  Jenny  had  climbed  to  the  top 
of  the  mast,  resting  on  the  powerful  shoul- 
ders of  Orso,  and  from  this  eminence, 
suspended  above  the  earth,  in  danger  of 
death,  she  outstretched  her  arms  and 
poised  like  a  butterfly,  the  circus  became 
silent  and  all  eyes  and  hearts  followed  with 
trembling  the  movements  of  this  wonder- 
ful child.  That  he  who  saw  her  on  the 
mast  or  on  a  horse/'  concluded  the  Satur* 


Orso.  173 

day  Review,  "will  never  forget  her,  be- 
cause the  greatest  painter  in  the  world, 
even  Mr.  Harvey,  of  San  Francisco,  who 
decorated  the  Palace  Hotel,  could  paint 
nothing  equal  to  it." 

The  youths  of  Anaheim  who  were  en- 
amored by  the  Misses  Bimpa  were  skep- 
tical of  this,  and  affirmed  that  it  was  a 
"  humbug,"  but  this  question  will  be  set- 
tled in  the  evening.  Meanwhile,  the 
commotion  around  the  circus  is  increas- 
ing each  moment.  From  among  the 
long,  low  wooden  buildings  surrounding 
the  canvas  circus  there  comes  the  roar  of 
the  lions  and  elephant;  the  parrots,  fas- 
tened to  rings  hanging  to  the  huts,  fill  the 
air  with  their  cries  and  whistles;  the  mon- 
keys swing  suspended  by  their  tails  or 
mock  the  public,  who  are  kept  at  a  dis- 
tance by  a  rope  fence.  At  last,  from  the 
main  inclosure  the  procession  emerges  for 
the  purpose  of  whetting  and  astonishing 


174  Orso. 

the  curiosity  of  the  public  to  a  greater 
extent.  The  procession  is  headed  by  a 
gaudy  band-wagon,  drawn  by  six  prancing 
horses  with  fine  harness,  and  feathers  on 
their  heads.  The  riders  on  the  saddles 
are  in  the  costume  of  French  postilions. 
On  the  other  wagons  come  cages  of  lions, 
and  in  every  cage  is  seated  a  lady  with  an 
olive  branch  in  her  hand.  Then  follows 
an  elephant,  covered  with  a  carpet,  and  a 
tower  on  its  back,  which  contains  several 
men  arrayed  as  East  Indian  hunters.  The 
band  is  playing,  the  drums  are  beating,  the 
lions  are  roaring,  the  whips  are  cracking; 
in  a  word,  this  cavalcade  moves  forward 
•with  great  noise  and  uproar.  But  this  is 
not  all :  behind  the  elephant  there  follows 
a  machine  on  wheels,  with  a  locomotive 
pipe,  somewhat  resembling  an  organ, 
which,  blown  by  steam,  emits  the  most 
discordant  yells  and  whistles  intended  for 
the  national  "Yankee  Doodle."  The 


Orso.  175 

Americans  cry  "Hurrah  I"  the  Germans, 
"Hoch!"  the  Mexicans,  "E  viva!"  and 
the  Cahuillas  howl  for  joy. 

The  crowds  follow  the  procession,  the 
place  around  the  circus  becomes  deserted, 
the  parrots  cease  their  chatter,  and  the 
monkeys  their  gymnastics.  But  "the 
greatest  attractions  "  do  not  take  part  in 
the  procession.  The  "incomparable 
artist  of  the  whip/'  the  manager,  the 
"unconquerable  Orso,"  and  the  "Aerial 
Angel,  Jenny,"  are  all  absent.  All  this  is 
preserved  for  the  evening  so  as  to  attract 
the  crowds. 

The  manager  is  somewhere  in  one  of 
the  wooden  buildings,  or  looks  into  the 
ticket  seller's  van,  where  he  pretends  to 
be  angry.  Orso  and  Jenny  are  in  the  ring 
practicing  some  of  their  feats.  Under  its 
canvas  roof  reigns  dust  and  silence.  In 
the  distance,  where  the  seats  are  arranged, 
it  is  totally  dark;  the  greatest  part  of  the 


1Y6  Orso. 

light  falls  through  the  roof  on  the  ring, 
with  its  sand  and  sawdust  covering.  With 
the  help  of  the  gray  light  which  filters 
through  the  canvas  can  be  seen  a  horse 
standing  near  the  parapet.  The  big  horse 
feels  very  lonely,  whisks  the  flies  with  his 
tail,  and  often  sways  his  head.  Gradually 
the  eye,  becoming  accustomed  to  the  dim 
light,  discerns  other  objects — for  instance: 
the  mast  upon  which  Orso  carries  Jenny, 
the  hoops  pasted  with  paper  for  her  to 
jump  through.  All  these  lie  on  the 
ground  without  order,  and  the  half-lighted 
arena  and  nearly  dark  benches  give  an 
impression  of  a  deserted  building  with 
battened  windows.  The  terrace  of  seats, 
only  here  and  there  broken  with  a  stray 
glimmer  of  light,  look  like  ruins.  The 
horse,  standing  with  drooping  head,  does 
not  enliven  the  picture. 

Where  are  Orso  and  Jenny?    One  of  the 
rays    of  light    that  stream  through    an 


Orso.  177 

aperture  of  the  canvas,  in  which  floats 
the  golden  dust,  falls  on  a  row  of  distant 
seats.  This  body  of  light,  undulating 
with  the  swaying  canvas,  at  last  falls  upon 
a  gronp  composed  of  Orso  and  Jenny. 

Orso  sits  on  top  of  the  bench,  and  near 
to  him  is  Jenny.  Her  beautiful  childish 
face  leans  against  the  arm  of  the  athlete 
and  her  hand  rests  on  his  neck.  The 
eyes  of  the  girl  are  lifted  upward,  as  if 
listening  intently  to  the  words  of  her  com- 
panion, who  bends  over  her,  moving  his 
head  at  times,  apparently  explaining  some- 
thing. 

Leaning  as  they  are  against  each  other, 
you  might  take  them  for  a  pair  of  lovers, 
but  for  the  fact  that  the  girl's  uplifted 
eyes  express  strong  attention  and  intense 
thought,  rather  than  any  romantic  feel- 
ing, and  that  her  legs,  which  are  cov- 
ered with  pink  fleshings,  and  her  feet  in 
slippers,  sway  to  and  fro  with  a  childish 


178  Orso. 

abandon.  Her  figure  has  just  begun  to 
blossom  into  maidenhood.  In  everything 
Jenny  is  still  a  child,  but  so  charming  and 
beautiful  that,  without  reflecting  upon 
the  ability  of  Mr.  Harvey,  who  decorated 
the  Palace  Hotel,  of  San  Francisco,  it 
would  be  difficult  even  for  him  to  imagine 
anything  to  equal  her.  Her  delicate  face 
is  simply  angelic;  her  large,  sad  blue  eyes 
have  a  deep,  sweet  and  confiding  expres- 
sion; her  dark  eyebrows  are  penciled  with 
unequaled  purity  on  her  forehead,  white 
and  reposeful  as  if  in  deep  thought,  and  the 
bright,  silky  hair,  somewhat  tossed,  throws 
a  shadow  on  it,  of  which,  not  only  Master 
Harvey,  but  a  certain  other  painter,  named 
Eembrandt,  would  not  have  been  ashamed. 
The  girl  at  once  reminds  you  of  Cinder- 
ella and  Gretchen,  and  the  leaning  posture 
which  she  now  maintains  suggests  timidity 
and  the  need  of  protection. 

Her  posture,  which  strongly  reminds 


Orso.  179 

you  of  those  of  Greuz,  contrasts  strangely 
with  her  circus  attire,  composed  of  a  short, 
white  muslin  skirt,  embroidered  with 
small  silver  stars,  and  pink  tights.  Sit- 
ting in  a  golden  beam  of  light  with  the 
dark,  deep  background,  she  looks  like 
some  sunny  and  transparent  vision,  and 
her  slender  form  contrasts  with  the  square 
and  sturdy  figure  of  the  youth. 

Orso,  who  is  dressed  in  pink  tights, 
appears  from  afar  as  if  he  were  naked, 
and  the  same  ray  of  light  distinctly  re- 
veals his  immense  shoulders,  rounded 
chest,  small  waist,  and  legs  too  short  in 
proportion  to  the  trunk. 

His  powerful  form  seems  as  if  it  were 
hewn  out  with  an  ax.  He  has  all  the  fea- 
tures of  a  circus  athlete,  but  so  magnified 
that  they  make  him  noticeable;  besides, 
his  face  is  not  handsome.  Sometimes, 
when  he  raises  his  head,  yon  can  see  his 
face,  the  lines  of  which  are  regular,  per- 


180  Orso. 

haps  too  regular,  and  somewhat  rigid,  as 
if  carved  from  marble.  The  low  fore- 
head, with  the  hair  falling  on  it,  like  the 
mane  of  a  horse,  straight  and  black,  in- 
herited from  his  squaw  mother,  gives  to 
his  face  a  gloomy  and  threatening  expres- 
sion. He  has  a  similarity  to  both  the 
bull  and  the  bear,  and  he  personifies  a 
terrible  and  somewhat  evil  force.  He  is 
not  of  a  good  disposition. 

When  Jenny  passes  by  the  horses,  those 
gentle  creatures  turn  their  heads  and  look 
at  her  with  intelligent  eyes,  and  neigh  and 
whinny,  as  if  wishing  to  say:  "  How  do 
yon  do,  darling?"  while  at  the  sight  of 
Orso  they  shudder  with  fear.  He  is  a 
reticent  and  gloomy  youth.  Mr.  Hirsch's 
negroes,  who  are  his  hostlers,  clowns,  min- 
strels, and  rope-walkers,  do  not  like  Orso 
and  tease  him  as  much  as  they  dare,  and 
because  he  is  half-Indian  they  think  noth- 
ing of  him,  and  plague  and  mock  him. 


Orso.  181 

Truly,  the  manager,  who  offers  the  hun- 
dred dollars  to  any  one  who  can  defeat 
him,  does  not  risk  much;  he  dislikes  and 
fears  him,  as  the  tamer  of  the  wild  ani- 
mals fears  a  lion,  and  whips  him  on  the 
slightest  provocation. 

Mr.  Hirsch  feels  that,  if  he  does  not 
keep  the  youth  in  subjection  by  constantly 
beating  him,  he  will  be  beaten  himself, 
and  he  follows  the  principle  of  the  Creole 
woman,  who  considered  beating  a  punish- 
ment, and  no  beating  a  reward. 

Such  was  Orso.  Eecently  he  began  to 
be  less  sullen,  because  little  Jenny  had  a 
good  influence  over  him.  It  happened 
about  a  year  ago  that  when  Orso,  who 
was  then  the  attendant  of  the  wild  ani- 
mals, was  cleaning  the  cage  of  the  puma, 
the  beast  put  its  paws  through  the  bars  of 
the  cage  and  wounded  his  head  severely. 
Then  he  entered  the  cage,  and  after  a  ter- 
rible fight  between  them,  he  alone  re- 


182  Orso. 

mained  alive.  But  he  was  so  badly  hurt 
that  he  fainted  from  loss  of  blood.  He  was 
ill  a  long  time,  which  was  greatly  aggra- 
vated by  a  severe  whipping  which  the 
manager  gave  him  for  breaking  the  spine 
of  the  puma. 

When  he  was  ill  Jenny  took  great  care 
of  him,  and  dressed  his  wounds,  and  when 
she  had  leisure,  read  the  Bible  to  him. 
That  is  a  "  good  book  "  which  speaks  of 
love,  of  forgiveness,  of  mercy — in  a  word, 
of  things  that  are  never  mentioned  in  Mr. 
Hirsch's  circus.  Orso,  listening  to  this 
book,  pondered  long  in  his  Indian  head 
and  at  last  came  to  the  conclusion  that  if 
it  would  be  as  good  in  the  circus  as  in  this 
book,  perhaps  he  would  not  be  so  bad.  He 
thought  also  that  then  he  would  not  be 
beaten  so  often,  and  some  one  would  be 
found  who  would  love  him.  But  who? 
Not  negroes  and  not  Mr.  Hirsch;  little 
Jenny,  whose  voice  sounded  as  sweetly  in 


Orso.  183 

his  ears  as  the  voice  of  the  mavis,  might 
be  the  one. 

One  evening,  under  the  influence  of 
this  thought,  he  began  to  weep  and  kiss 
the  small  hands  of  Jenny,  and  from  this 
time  on  he  loved  her  very  much.  During 
the  performance  in  the  evening,  when 
Jenny  was  riding  a  horse,  he  was  always  in 
the  ring  and  carefully  watching  over  her 
to  prevent  any  accident.  When  he  held 
the  paper  hoops  for  her  to  jump  through 
he  smiled  on  her;  when  to  the  sound  of 
the  music  be  balanced  her  on  the  top  of 
the  high  mast,  and  the  audience  was 
hushed  with  fright,  he  felt  uneasy  him- 
self. He  knew  very  well  if  she  should 
fall  that  no  one  from  the  "  good  book " 
would  be  left  in  the  circus';  he  never  re- 
moved his  eyes  from  her,  and  the  evident 
caution  and  anxiety  expressed  in  his 
movements  added  to  the  terror  of  the 
people.  Then,  when  recalled  into  the 


184  Orso. 

ring  by  the  storm  of  applause,  they  would 
run  in  together,  he  would  push  her  for- 
ward, as  if  deserving  of  all  the  praise,  and 
murmur  from  joy.  This  reticent  youth 
spoke  only  to  Jenny,  and  to  her  alone  he 
opened  his  mind.  He  hated  the  circus 
and  Mr.  Hirsch,  who  was  entirely  different 
from  the  people  in  the  "good  book." 
Some  thing  always  attracted  him  to  the  edge 
of  the  horizon,  to  the  woods  and  plains. 
When  the  circus  troupe  in  their  constant 
wanderings  chanced  to  pass  through  wild, 
lonely  spots,  he  heard  voices  awakening 
the  instincts  of  a  captive  wolf,  who  sees 
the  woods  and  plains  for  the  first  time. 
This  propensity  he  inherited  not  only 
from  his  mother,  but  also  from  his  father, 
who  had  been  a  frontiersman.  He  Chared 
all  his  hopes  with  Jenny,  and  often  nar-c 
rated  to  her  how  fully  and  untrammeled 
live  the  people  of  the  plains.  Most  of  this 
he  guessed  or  gleaned  from  the  hunters  of 


Orso.  185 

the  prairies,  who  came  to  the  circus  with 
wild  animals  which  they  had  captured  for 
the  menagerie,  or  to  try  their  prowess  for 
the  hundred-dollar  prize. 

Little  Jenny  listened  to  these  Indian 
visions,  opening  widely  her  blue  eyes  and 
falling  into  deep  reveries.  For  Orso 
never  spoke  of  going  alone  to  the  desert; 
she  was  always  with  him,  and  it  was  very 
good  for  them  there.  Every  day  they 
saw  something  new;  they  possessed  all  they 
needed,  and  it  seemed  right  to  make  all 
their  plans  carefully. 

So  now  they  sit  in  this  beam  of  light, 
talking  to  each  other,  instead  of  practicing 
and  attempting  new  feats.  The  horse 
stands  in  the  ring  and  feels  lonely.  Jenny 
leans  on  Orso's  arm,  thoughtfully  con- 
templating and  looking  with  wistful,  won- 
dering eyes  into  the  dim  space,  swinging 
her  feet  like  a  child  and  musing — how  it 


186  Orso. 

will  be  on  the  plains,  and  asking  questions 
from  Orso. 

"  How  do  they  live  there?"  says  she, 
raising  her  eyes  to  the  face  of  her  friend. 

"  There  is  plenty  of  oaks.  They  take 
an  ax  and  build  a  house." 

"  Well,"  says  Jenny,  "  but  until  the 
house  is  built?" 

"It  is  always  warm  there.  The 
'  Grizzly  Killer'  says  it  is  very  warm." 

Jenny  begins  to  swing  her  feet  more 
lively,  as  if  the  warmth  there  has  settled 
the  question  in  her  mind;  but  shortly  she 
remembers  that  she  has  in  the  circus  a 
dog  and  a  cat,  and  that  she  would  like  to 
take  them  with  her.  *  She  calls  her  dog 
Mister  Dog  and  her  cat  Mister  Cat. 

"And  will  Mr.  Dog  and  Mr.  Cat  go 
with  us?" 

"  They  will,"  answers  Orso,  looking 
pleased. 


Orso.  187 

"  Will  we  take  with  ns  the  ( good 
book  T 

"  "We  will/'  says  Orso,  still  more  pleased. 

"Well,"  says  the  girl  in  her  innocence, 
"Mr.  Cat  will  catch  birds  for  us;  Mr. 
Dog  will  drive  away  bad  people  with  his 
bark;  yon  will  be  my  husband  and  I  will 
be  your  wife,  and  they  will  be  our 
children." 

Orso  feels  so  happy  that  he  cannot 
speak,  and  Jenny  continues: 

"  There,  there  will  be  no  Mr.  Hirsch, 
no  circus,  we  will  not  work,  and  basta! 
But  no!"  she  adds  a  moment  later,  "  the 
'  good  book '  says  that  we  should  work,  and 
I  sometimes  will  jump  through  one — 
through  the  two  hoops,  the  three,  the  four 
hoops." 

Jenny  evidently  does  not  imagine  work 
under  any  other  form  than  jumping 
through  hoops. 

Shortly  she  says  again: 


188  Orso. 

"Orso,  will  I  indeed  be  always  with 
you?" 

"  Yes,  Jen,  for  I  love  you  very  much." 

His  face  brightens  as  he  says  so,  and 
becomes  almost  beautiful. 

And  yet  he  does  not  know  himself  how 
dear  to  him  has  become  this  small  bright 
head. 

He  has  nothing  else  in  this  world  but 
her,  and  he  watches  her  as  the  faithful 
dog  guards  his  mistress.  By  her  fragile 
side  he  looks  like  Hercules,  but  he  is 
unconscious  of  this. 

"  Jen,"  says  he  after  a  moment,  "listen 
to  what  I  tell  you." 

Jenny,  who  shortly  before  had  got  up 
to  look  at  the  horse,  now  turns  and, 
kneeling  down  before  Orso,  puts  her  two 
elbows  on  his  knees,  crosses  her  arms  and, 
resting  her  chin  on  her  wrists,  uplifts 
her  face  and  is  all  attention. 

At  this  moment,  to  the  consternation  of 


Orso.  189 

the  children,  the  "artist  of  the  whip" 
enters  the  ring  in  a  very  bad  humor,  be- 
cause his  trial  with  a  lion  had  entirely 
failed. 

This  lion,  who  was  bald  from  old  age, 
desired  only  to  be  let  alone,  had  no  incli- 
nation to  attack  the  "  artist,"  and  hid 
himself  from  the  lash  of  the  whip  in  a  far 
corner  of  the  cage.  The  manager  thought 
with  despair  that  if  this  loyal  disposition  re- 
mained with  the  lion  until  the  evening  the 
contest  with  the  whip  would  be  a  failure; 
for  to  fight  a  lion  who  slinks  away  needs 
no  more  art  than  to  eat  a  lobster  from  his 
tail.  The  bad  temper  of  the  proprietor 
became  still  worse  when  he  learned  from 
the  ticket  seller  that  he  was  disposing  of 
no  seats  in  the  "gods;"  that  the  Cahuillas 
evidently  had  spent  all  their  money  that 
they  had  earned  in  the  vineyards  for  drinks, 
and  that  they  came  to  his  window  and 
offered  their  blankets,  marked  "  IT.  S.," 


190  Orso. 

or  their  wives,  especially  the  old  ones,  in 
exchange  for  tickets  of  admission.  The 
lack  of  money  among  the  Cahuillas  was  no 
small  loss  for  the  "  artist  of  the  whip;" 
for  he  counted  on  a  "  crowded  house/'  and 
if  the  seats  in  the  "gods"  were  not  sold  no 
"crowded  house "  was  obtainable;  there- 
fore the  manager  wished  at  this  moment 
that  all  the  Indians  had  but  one  back,  and 
that  he  might  give  an  exhibition  of  his 
skill  with  the  whip  on  that  one  back,  in  the 
presence  of  all  Anaheim.  Thus  he  felt  as 
he  entered  the  ring,  and  seeing  the  horse 
standing  idle  under  the  parapet,  he  felt 
like  jumping  with  anger.  Where  are  Orso 
and  Jenny?  Shading  his  eyes  with  his 
hand  he  looked  all  around  the  circus,  and 
observed  in  a  bright  beam,  Orso,  and  Jenny 
kneeling  before  him  with  her  elbows  rest- 
ing on  his  knees.  At  this  sight  he  let 
the  lash  of  his  whip  trail  on  the  grouncU 
"  Orso!" 


Orso.  191 

If  lightning  had  struck  in  the  midst  of 
the  children  they  could  not  have  been 
more  startled.  Orso  jumped  to  his  feet  and. 
descended  in  the  passageway  between  the 
benches  with  the  hasty  movement  of  an 
animal  who  comes  to  his  master  at  his 
call;  behind  him  followed  Jenny  with  eyes 
wide  open  from  fright,  and  clutching  the 
benches  as  she  passed  them. 

Orso,  on  entering  the  ring,  stopped  by 
the  parapet,  gloomy  and  silent,  the  gray 
light  from  above  bringing  into  relief  his 
Herculean  trunk  upon  its  short  legs. 

"  Nearer/'  cried  out  the  manager  in  a 
hoarse  voice;  meanwhile  the  lash  of  his 
long  whip  moved  upon  the  sand  with  a 
threatening  motion,  like  the  tail  of  a 
tiger  watching  his  approaching  prey. 

Orso  advanced  several  steps,  and  for  a 
few  minutes  they  looked  into  each  others 
eyes.  The  manager's  face  resembled  that 
of  the  tamer  who  enters  the  cage,  intend- 


192  Orso. 

ing  to  subdue  a  dangerous  animal,  and  at 
the  same  time  watches  it. 

His  rage  overcame  his  caution.  His 
legs,  incased  in  elk  riding  breeches  and 
high  boots,  pranced  under  him  with  anger. 
Perhaps  it  was  not  the  idleness  alone  of 
the  children  which  increased  his  rage. 
Jenny,  from  above,  looked  at  both  of  them 
like  a  frightened  hare  watching  two 
lynxes. 

"Hoodlum!  dog  catcher,  thou  cur!" 
hissed  the  manager. 

The  whip  with  the  velocity  of  light- 
ning whistled  through  the  air  in  a  circle, 
hissed  and  struck.  Orso  winced  and 
howled  a  little,  and  stepped  toward  the 
manager,  but  the  second  stroke  stopped 
him  at  once,  then  the  third,  fourth — 
tenth.  The  contest  had  begun,  although 
there  was  no  audience.  The  uplifted 
hand  of  the  "  great  artist "  scarcely  moved, 
but  his  wrist  revolved^  as  if  a  part  of  some 


Orso.  193 

machinery,  and,  with  each  revolution,  the 
sharp  point  of  the  lash  stung  the  skin  of 
Orso.  It  seemed  as  if  the  whip,  or  rather 
its  poisonous  fang,  filled  the  whole  space 
between  the  athlete  and  the  manager,  who 
in  his  increasing  excitement  reached  the 
genuine  enthusiasm  of  the  artist.  The 
"  master  "  simply  improvised.  The  crack- 
ing end  flashing  in  the  air  twice  had 
written  down  its  bloody  trace  on  the  bare 
neck  of  the  athlete.  Orso  was  silent  in 
this  dance.  At  every  cut  he  stepped  one 
step  forward  and  the  manager  one  step 
backward.  In  this  way  they  circled  the 
arena,  and  at  last  the  manager  backed  out 
of  the  ring  as  a  conqueror  from  the  cage, 
and  disappeared  through  the  entrance  to 
the  stables,  still  as  the  conqueror.  As  he 
left  his  eye  fell  on  Jenny. 

"  Get  on  your  horse/'  he  cried;  "  I  will 
settle  with  you  later/' 

His  voice  had  scarcely  ceased  before  her 


194:  Orso. 

white  skirt  flashed  in  the  air,  and  in  a 
moment  she  was  on  the  back  of  the  horse. 
The  manager  had  disappeared,  and  the 
jorse  began  to  gallop  around  the  ring,  oc- 
casionally striking  the  side  with  its  hoofs. 

"Hep!  Hep!"  agitatedly  said  Jenny  to 
»he  horse  with  her  childish  voice:  "Hep! 
hep  I"  but  this  "hep,  hep,"  was  at  the 
same  time  a  sob.  The  horse  increased  his 
speed,  clattering  with  his  hoofs  as  he 
leaned  more  and  more  to  the  center.  The 
girl,  standing  on  the  pad  with  her  feet 
close  together,  seemed  scarcely  to  touch  it 
with  the  ends  of  her  toes;  her  bare  rosy 
arms  rose  and  fell  as  she  maintained  her 
balance;  her  hair  and  light  muslin  dress 
floated  behind  her  sapple  figure,  which 
looked  like  a  bird  circling  m  the  air. 

"Hep!  hep!"  she  kept  exclaiming. 
Meanwhile  her  eyes  were  filled  with  tears, 
and  to  see  she  had  to  raise  her  head;  the 
movement  of  the  horse  made  her  dizzy; 


Orso.  195 

the  terrace  of  seats  and  the  ring  seemed  to 
revolve  around  her;  she  wavered  once, 
twice,  and  then  fell  down  into  the  arms  of 
Orso. 

"  Oh!  Orso,  poor  Orso!"  cried  the  child. 

"What's  the  matter,  Jen?  why  do  you 
cry?  I  don't  feel  the  pain,  I  don't  feel 
it." 

Jenny  threw  both  her  arms  around  his 
neck  and  began  to  kiss  his  cheeks.  Her 
whole  body  trembled,  and  she  sobbed 
convulsively. 

"  Orso,  oh,  Orso,"  she  sobbed,  for  she 
could  not  speak,  and  her  arms  clung  closer 
to  his  neck.  She  could  not  have  cried  more 
if  she  had  been  beaten  herself.  So,  in  the 
end,  he  began  to  pet  and  console  her. 
Forgetting  his  own  pain  he  took  her  in  his 
arms  and  pressed  her  to  his  heart,  and  his 
nerves  being  excited  by  the  beating,  he 
now  felt  for  the  first  time  that  he  loved 
her  more  than  the  dog  loved  his  mistress. 


196  Orso. 

He  breathed  heavily,  and  his  lips  panted 
out  the  words: 

"  I  feel  no  pain.  When  you  are  with 
me,  I  am  happy,  Jenny,  Jenny!" 

When  this  was  transpiring  the  manager 
was  walking  in  the  stables,  foaming  with 
rage.  His  heart  was  filled  with  jealousy. 
He  saw  the  girl  on  her  knees  before  Orso; 
recently  this  beautiful  child  had  awakened 
the  lower  instincts  in  him,  but  as  yet  un- 
developed, and  now  he  fancied  that  she 
and  Orso  loved  each  other,  and  he  felt  re- 
vengeful, and  had  a  wild  desire  to  punish 
her — to  whip  her  soundly.  This  desire 
he  could  not  resist.  Shortly  he  called  to 
her. 

She  at  once  left  Orso,  and  in  a  moment 
had  disappeared  in  the  dark  entrance  to 
the  stables.  Orso  stood  stupefied,  and 
instead  of  following  her  he  walked  with 
unsteady  steps  to  a  bench,  and,  seating 
himself,  began  to  breathe  heavily. 


Orso.  197 

When  the  girl  entered  the  stables  she 
could  see  nothing,  as  it  was  much  darker 
there  than  in  the  ring.  Yet,  fearing  that 
she  would  be  suspected  of  having  delayed 
her  coming,  she  cried  out  in  a  faint  voice: 

"  I  am  here,  master,  I  am  here." 

At  the  same  moment  the  hand  of  the 
manager  caught  hers,  and  he  hoarsely 
said: 

"Comer 

If  he  had  shown  anger  or  badly  scolded 
her  she  would  have  felt  less  frightened 
than  at  this  silence  with  which  he  led  her 
to  the  circus  wardrobe.  She  hung  back, 
resisting  him,  and  repeating  quickly: 

"Oh,  dear  Mr.  Hirsch,  forgive  me!  for- 
give me!" 

But  forcibly  he  dragged  her  to  the  long 
room  where  they  stored  their  costumes, 
and  turned  the  key  in  the  door. 

Jenny  fell  down  on  her  knees.  "With 
uplifted  eyes  and  folded  hands,  trembling 


198  Orso. 

as  a  leaf,  the  tears  streaming  down  her 
cheeks,  she  tried  to  arouse  his  mercy;  in 
answer  to  her  supplications,  he  took  from 
the  wall  a  wire  whip,  and  said: 

"  Lie  down." 

With  despair  she  flung  herself  at  his 
feet,  nearly  dying  from  fright.  Every 
nerve  of  her  body  quivered;  but  vainly  she 
pressed  her  pallid  lips  to  his  polished 
boots.  Her  alarm  and  pleading  seemed  to 
arouse  the  demon  in  him  more  than  ever. 
Grasping  her  roughly,  he  threw  her 
violently  on  a  heap  of  dresses,  and  in  an 
instant,  after  trying  to  stop  the  kicking 
of  her  feet,  he  began  beating  her  cruelly. 

"Orso!  Orso!"  she  shouted. 

About  this  moment  the  door  shook  on 
its  hinges,  rattled,  creaked  and  gave  way, 
and  half  of  it,  pushed  in  with  a  tremen- 
dous force,  fell  with  a  crash  upon  the 
ground. 

In  this  opening  stood  Orso. 


Orso.  199 

The  wire  whip  fell  from  the  hand  of  the 
manager,  and  his  face  became  deadly  pale, 
because  Orso  looked  ferocious.  His  eyes 
were  bloodshot,  his  lips  covered  with 
foam,  his  head  inclined  to  one  side  like  a 
bull's,  and  his  whole  body  was  crouched 
and  gathered,  as  if  ready  to  spring. 

"  Get  out!"  cried  the  manager,  trying  to 
hide  his  fear  behind  a  show  of  authority. 

The  pent-up  dam  was  already  broken. 
Orso,  who  was  usually  as  obedient  to  every 
motion  as  a  dog,  this  time  did  not  move, 
but  leaning  his  head  still  more  to  one  side, 
he  moved  slowly  and  threateningly  toward 
the  "artist  of  the  whip,"  his  iron  muscles 
taut  as  whipcords. 

"Help!  help!"  cried  the  manager. 

They  heard  him. 

Four  brawny  negroes  from  the  stables 
ran  in  through  the  broken  door  and  fell 
upon  Orso.  A  terrible  fight  ensued,  upon 
which  the  manager  looked  with  chattering 


200  Orso. 

teeth.  For  a  long  time  you  could  see 
nothing  but  a  tangled  mass  of  dark  bodies 
wrestling  with  convulsive  movements, 
rolling  on  the  ground  in  a  writhing  heap; 
in  the  silence  which  followed  sometimes 
was  heard  a  groan,  a  snort,  loud  short 
breathing,  the  gritting  of  teeth. 

In  a  moment  one  of  the  negroes,  as  if 
by  a  superhuman  force,  was  sent  from 
this  formless  mass,  whirling  headlong 
through  the  air,  and  fell  at  the  feet  of  the 
manager,  striking  his  skull  with  great 
force  on  the  ground;  soon  a  second  flew 
out;  then  from  the  center  of  this  turbulent 
group  Orso's  body  alone  arose,  covered 
with  blood  and  looking  more  terrible  than 
before.  His  knees  were  still  pressing 
heavily  on  the  breasts  of  the  two  fainting 
negroes.  He  arose  to  his  feet  and  moved 
toward  the  manager. 

Hirsch  closed  his  eyes. 

The  next  moment  he  felt  that  his  feet 


Orso.  201 

had  left  the  ground,  that  he  was  flying 
through  the  air — then  he  felt  nothing; 
his  whole  body  was  dashed  with  monstrous 
force  into  the  remaining  half  of  the  door, 
and  he  fell  to  the  earth  unconscious. 

Orso  wiped  his  face,  and,  coming  over 
to  Jenny,  said: 

"  Let  us  go." 

He  took  her  by  the  hand  and  they 
went. 

The  whole  town  was  following  the  circus 
procession  and  the  steam  calliope,  playing 
"  Yankee  Doodle,"  and  the  place  around 
the  circus  was  deserted.  The  parrots 
only,  swinging  in  their  hoops,  filled  the 
air  with  their  cries.  Hand  in  hand,  Orso 
and  Jenny  went  forward ;  from  the  end  of 
the  street  could  be  seen  the  immense  plains, 
covered  with  cacti.  Silently  they  passed 
by  the  houses,  shaded  by  the  eucalyptus 
trees;  then  they  passed  the  slaughter- 
houses, around  which  had  gathered  thou- 


202  Orso. 

sands  of  small  black  birds  with  red-tipped 
wings.  They  jumped  over  the  large  irri- 
gation ditches,  entered  into  an  orange 
grove,  and  on  emerging  from  it  found 
themselves  among  the  cacti. 

This  was  the  desert. 

As  far  as  the  eye  could  reach  these 
prickly  plants  rose  higher  and  higher; 
thick  leaves  growing  from  other  leaves 
obstructed  the  path,  sometimes  catching 
on  Jenny's  dress.  In  places  they  grew  to 
such  a  great  height  that  the  children 
seemed  to  be  as  much  lost  here  as  if  they 
were  in  the  woods,  and  no  one  could  find 
them  there.  So  they  kept  threading 
their  way  through  them,  now  to  the  right 
and  then  to  the  left,  but  careful  always  to 
go  from  the  town.  Sometimes  between  the 
cacti  they  could  see  on  the  horizon  the 
blue  mountains  of  Santa  Ana.  They 
went  to  the  mountains.  The  heat  was 
great.  Gray-colored  locusts  chirped  in 


Orso.  203 

the  cacti;  the  sun's  rays  poured  down 
upon  the  earth  in  streams;  the  dried-up 
earth  was  covered  with  a  network  of 
cracks;  the  stiff  leaves  of  the  cacti  seemed 
to  soften  from  the  heat,  and  the  flowers 
were  languid  and  half-wilted.  The  chil- 
dren proceeded,  silent  and  thoughtful. 
But  all  that  surrounded  them  was  so  new 
that  they  surrendered  themselves  to  their 
impressions,  and  for  the  moment  forgot 
even  their  weariness.  Jenny's  eyes  ran 
from  one  bunch  of  cacti  to  another;  again 
she  looked  to  the  farther  clusters,  saying 
to  her  friend: 

"la  this  the  wilderness,  Orso?" 
But  the  desert  did  not  appear  to  be 
deserted.  From  the  farther  clumps  came 
the  calling  of  the  male  quail,  and  around 
sounded  the  different  murmurs  of  cluck- 
ing, of  twittering,  of  the  ruffling  of 
feathers:  in  a  word,  the  divers  voices  of 
the  small  inhabitants  of  the  plains.  Some- 


204:  Orso. 

times  there  flew  up  a  whole  covey  of 
quail;  the  gaudy-topped  pheasants  scat- 
tered on  their  approach;  the  black  squirrels 
dived  into  their  holes;  the  rabbits  disap- 
peared in  all  directions;  the  gophers  were 
sitting  on  their  hind  legs  beside  their 
holes,  looking  like  fat  German  farmers 
standing  in  their  doorway. 

After  resting  an  hour  the  children  pro- 
ceeded on  their  journey.  Jenny  soon  felt 
thirsty.  Orso,  in  whom  had  awakened 
his  Indian  inventive  faculties,  began  to 
pluck  cactus  fruits.  They  were  in  abun- 
dance, and  grew  together  with  the  flowers 
on  the  same  leaves.  In  plucking  them 
they  pricked  their  fingers  with  the 
sharp  points,  but  the  fruit  was  luscious. 
Their  sweet  and  acid  flavor  quenched  at 
once  their  thirst  and  appeased  their 
hunger.  The  prairies  fed  the  children 
as  a  mother;  thus  strengthened  they  could 
proceed  further.  The  cacti  arose  higher, 


Orso.  205 

and  yon  could  say  that  they  grew  on  the 
head  of  one  another.  The  ground  on 
which  they  walked  ascended  gradually  and 
continuously.  Looking  backward  once 
more  they  saw  Anaheim,  dissolving  in  the 
distance  and  looking  like  a  grove  of  trees 
upon  the  low  plains.  Not  a  trace  of  the 
circus  could  be  distinguished.  They  still 
pressed  steadily  onward  to  the  mountains, 
which  now  became  more  distinct  in  the 
distance.  The  surroundings  assumed 
another  phase.  Between  the  cacti  ap- 
peared different  bushes  and  even  trees; 
the  wooded  portion  of  the  foothills  of 
Santa  Ana  had  commenced.  Orso  broke 
one  of  the  saplings,  and,  clearing  off  its 
branches,  made  a  cudgel  of  it,  which,  in 
his  hands,  would  prove  a  terrible  weapon. 
His  Indian  instincts  whispered  to  him 
that  in  the  mountains  it  was  better  to  be 
provided,  even  with  a  stick,  than  to  go 
unarmed,  especially  now  that  the  sun  had 


206  Orso. 

lowered  itself  into  the  west.  Its  great 
fiery  shield  had  rolled  down  far  beyond 
Anaheim,  into  the  blue  ocean.  After  a 
while  it  disappeared,  and  in  the  west  there 
gleamed  red,  golden,  and  orange  lights, 
similar  to  ribbons  and  gauzy  veils,  stretched 
over  the  whole  sky.  The  mountains  up- 
lifted themselves  in  this  glow;  the  cacti 
assumed  different  fantastical  shapes,  re- 
sembling people  and  animals.  Jenny  felt 
tired  and  sleepy,  but  they  still  hastened  to 
the  mountains,  although  they  knew  not 
why.  Soon  they  saw  rocks,  and  on  reach- 
ing them  they  discovered  a  stream;  they 
drank  some  water  and  continued  along  its 
course.  The  rocks,  which  were  at  first 
broken  and  scattered,  then  changed  into 
a  solid  wall,  which  became  higher  and 
higher,  and  soon  they  entered  into  a 
canon. 

The  rosy  lights  died  away;  deeper  and 
deeper  dusk  enveloped    the    earth.      In 


Orso.  207 

places  immense  vines  reached  from  one 
side  of  the  cafion  to  the  other,  covering 
it  like  a  roof,  and  making  it  dark  and  un- 
canny. On  the  mountain  side,  above 
them,  could  be  heard  the  voices  of  the 
swaying  and  creaking  forest  trees.  Orso 
implied  that  now  they  were  in  the  depths  of 
the  wilderness,  where  certainly  there  were 
many  wild  animals.  From  time  to  time 
his  ear  detected  suspicious  sounds,  and 
when  night  fell  he  distinctly  heard  the 
hoarse  mewing  of  the  lynxes,  the  roar  of 
the  pumas,  and  the  melancholy  howling  of 
the  coyotes. 

"  Are  you  afraid,  Jen?"  asked  Orso. 

"No,"  replied  the  girl. 

But  she  was  already  very  tired,  and 
could  proceed  no  farther,  so  Orso  took  her 
in  his  arms  and  carried  her.  He  went 
forward  with  the  hope  that  he  would  reach 
the  house  of  some  squatter,  or  should  meet 
some  Mexican  campers.  Once  or  twice  it 


208  Orso. 

seemed  to  him  that  he  saw  the  gleam  of 
some  wild  animal's  eyes.  Then  with  one 
hand  he  pressed  Jenny,  who  had  now 
fallen  asleep,  to  his  breast,  and  with  the 
other  he  grasped  his  stick.  He  was  very 
tired  himself;  notwithstanding  his  great 
strength  Jenny  began  to  prove  heavy  to 
him,  especially  as  he  carried  her  on  his 
left  arm;  the  right  one  he  wished  to  have 
free  for  defense.  Occasionally  he  stopped 
to  regain  his  breath  and  then  continued 
on.  Suddenly  he  paused  and  listened 
intently.  It  seemed  to  him  as  if  he  heard 
the  echoes  of  the  small  bells  which  the 
settlers  tie  for  the  night  to  the  neck  of 
their  cows  and  goats.  Rushing  forward, 
he  soon  reached  a  bend  in  the  stream. 
The  sound  of  the  bells  became  more  dis- 
tinct, and  joined  with  them  in  the  dis- 
tance was  heard  the  barking  of  a  dog. 
Then  Orso  was  sure  that  he  was  nearing 
some  settlement.  It  was  high  time  that 


Orso.  209 

he  did,  for  he  was  exhausted  by  the  events 
of  the  day,  and  his  strength  had  begun  to 
fail  him.  On  turning  another  bend  he 
saw  a  light;  as  he  moved  forward  his 
quick  eyes  discerned  a  campfire,  a  dog, 
evidently  tied  to  a  stump,  tearing  and 
barking,  and  at  last  the  figure  of  a  man 
seated  by  the  fire. 

"God  send  that  this  may  be  a  man 
from  the  *  good  book  'I"  thought  he. 

Then  he  resolved  to  awaken  Jenny. 

"Jen!"  called  he,   "awake,   we  shall 
eat." 

"What  is  it?"  asked  the  girl;  "where 
are  we?" 

"In  the  wilderness." 

She  was  now  wide  awake. 

"What  light  is  that?" 

"  A  man  lives  there;  we  shall  eat." 

Poor  Orso  was  very  hungry. 

Meanwhile  they  were  nearing  the  fire. 
The  dog  barked  more  violently,  and  the 


210  Orso. 

old  man,  sitting  by  the  fire,  shaded  his 
eyes  and  peered  into  the  gloom.  Shortly 
he  said: 

"Who  is  there?" 

"It  is  us,"  answered  Jenny  in  her 
delicate  voice,  "and  we  are  very  hungry." 

"  Come  nearer,"  said  the  old  man. 

Emerging  from  behind  a  great  rock, 
which  had  partly  concealed  them,  they 
both  stood  in  the  light  of  the  fire,  holding 
each  other's  hands.  The  old  man  looked 
at  them  with  astonishment,  and  involun- 
tarily exclaimed: 

"  What  is  that?" 

For  he  saw  a  sight  which,  in  the 
sparsely  populated  mountains  of  Santa 
Ana,  would  astonish  any  one.  Orso  and 
Jenny  were  dressed  in  their  circus  attire. 
The  beautiful  girl,  clothed  in  pink  tights 
and  short  white  skirt,  appearing  so  sud- 
denly before  him,  looked  in  the  firelight 
like  some  fairy  sylph.  Behind  her  stood 


Orso.  211 

the  youth  with  his  powerful  figure,  covered 
also  with  pink  fleshings,  through  which 
you  could  see  his  muscles  standing  out 
like  knots  on  the  oak. 

The  old  squatter  gazed  at  them  with 
wide-open  eyes. 

"Who  are  you?"  he  inquired. 

The  girl,  relying  more  on  her  own  elo- 
quence than  on  that  of  Orso,  began  to 
speak. 

"We  are  from  the  circus,  kind  sir! 
Mr.  Hirsch  beat  Orso  very  much  and  then 
wanted  to  beat  me,  but  Orso  did  not  let 
him,  and  fought  Mr.  Hirsch  and  four 
negroes,  and  then  we  ran  off  on  the  plains, 
and  went  a  long  distance  through  the 
cacti,  and  Orso  carried  me;  then  we  came 
here  and  are  very  hungry/' 

The  face  of  the  old  man  softened  and 
brightened  as  he  listened  to  her  story,  and 
he  looked  with  a  fatherly  interest  on  this 
charming  child,  who  spoke  with  great 


212  Orso. 

haste,  as  if  she  wished  to  tell  all  in  one 
breath. 

"What  is  your  name,  little  one?"  he 
asked. 

"Jenny." 

"  Welcome,  Jenny!  and  you,  Orso! 
people  rarely  come  here.  Come  to  me, 
Jenny." 

Without  hesitation  the  little  girl  put 
her  arms  around  the  neck  of  the  old  man 
and  kissed  him  warmly.  He  appeared 
to  her  to  be  some  one  from  the  "good 
book." 

"Will  Mr.  Hirsch  find  us  here?"  she 
said,  as  she  took  her  lips  from  his  face. 

"If  he  comes  he  will  find  a  bullet  here," 
replied  the  old  man;  then  added,  "you 
said  that  you  wanted  to  eat?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  very  much." 

The  squatter,  raking  in  the  ashes  of  the 
fire,  took  out  a  fine  leg  of  venison,  the 


Orso.  213 

pleasant  odor  of  which  filled  the  air. 
Then  they  sat  down  to  eat. 

The  night  was  gorgeous;  the  moon  came 
out  high  in  the  heavens  above  the  cafion; 
in  the  thicket  the  mavis  began  to  [sing 
sweetly;  the  fire  burned  brightly,  and 
Orso  was  so  filled  with  joy  that  he  chanted 
with  gladness.  Both  he  and  the  girl  ate 
heartily.  The  old  man  had  no  appetite;  he 
looked  upon  little  Jenny,  and,  for  some 
unknown  cause,  his  eyes  were  filled  with 
tears. 

Perhaps  he  had  been  once  a  father,  or, 
perhaps,  he  so  rarely  saw  people  in  these 
deserted  mountains. 

Since  then  these  three  lived  together. 


MEMORIES  OF  MARIPOSA. 


MEMORIES  OF  MARIPOSA. 


I  MADE  a  flying  trip  to  Mariposa, 
and  hurriedly  inspected  its  surroundings. 
I  would  have  stayed  longer  had  I 
known  that  several  miles  from  the  town 
there  lived  in  the  woods  a  prototype  of 
my  "  Lighthouse  Keeper  of  Aspinwall." 
Not  long  ago  Mr.  M.,  who  was  with  me 
in  California,  after  having  read  the 
"  Lighthouse  Keeper/'  narrated  to  me 
his  meeting  with  a  Polish  squatter  who 
had  similar  characteristics.  This  narrative 
I  faithfully  repeat  here. 

On  the  road  to  the  Big  Trees,  those 
giants  of  California,  I  visited  Mariposa. 
That  town  contained  a  few  years  ago  fif- 
teen thousand  inhabitants;  now  it  has  a 
great  deal  less.  It  is  observed  in  the  New 


218        Memories  of  Mariposa. 

World  that  cities  grow  up  like  mushrooms, 
but  often  they  are  as  short-lived  as  butter- 
flies. So  it  was  with  Mariposa.  As  long 
as  the  bed  of  the  small  river,  Mariposa, 
shone  with  gold,  and  set  on  her  banks  the 
greenish  nuggets  of  the  precious  metal, 
here  swarmed  the  American  miners, 
"gambusinos"  from  Mexico,  and  mer- 
chants from  the  whole  world.  Later  they 
all  left.  These  "  golden  "  cities  do  not 
endure,  because  earlier  or  later  the  gold 
must  become  exhausted.  To-day  the 
town  of  Mariposa  has  but  one  thousand 
inhabitants,  and  the  banks  of  the  river 
have  dressed  themselves  again  with  the 
thickets  of  weeping  willow,  cottonwood, 
and  smaller  trees.  Where  before  the 
miners  sang  at  evening,  "I  Crossed  the 
Mississippi,"  now  sing  the  coyotes.  The 
town  consists  of  one  street,  on  which  the 
best  building  is  a  schoolhouse,  the  second 
best  is  the  town  hall,  the  third  the 


Memories  of  Mariposa.        219 

hotel  of  Mr.  Biling;  there  are  also  a 
grocery,  saloon,  and  bakery.  A  few  more 
stores  exhibit  their  goods  in  their  windows. 
The  trade  here  is  very  small.  The  stores 
supply  the  needs  of  the  town  only,  for  in 
its  vicinity  are  but  few  farmers.  The 
whole  country  is  very  sparsely  populated, 
and  is  filled  mostly  with  gigantic  woods, 
wherein,  at  great  intervals,  have  settled 
squatters. 

When  our  stagecoach  entered  the  town 
it  seemed  very  crowded,  for  we  arrived  on 
Friday — and  this  was  the  market-day. 
Settlers  bring  their  honey  to  the  grocery 
stores,  where  they  get  divers  articles  of 
food.  Others  bring  herds  of  stock,  and 
farmers  furnish  grain.  Though  immi- 
gration comes  to  Mariposa  very  slowly, 
yet  there  was  to  be  seen  several  wagons  of 
the  immigrants,  which  could  be  recog- 
nized by  their  high  white  canvas  cover- 
ing, and  between  the  wheels  is  generally 


220        Memories  of  Mariposa. 

tied  a  dog.  There  was  quite  a  crowd  be- 
fore the  hotel,  and  the  proprietor  moved 
around  lively,  dispensing  gin,  whisky, 
and  brandy.  At  the  first  glance  he  recog- 
nized that  I  was  a  foreigner  going  to  visit 
the  Big  Trees,  and,  because  tourists  made 
his  best  clientele,  he  showed  me  special 
attention. 

He  was  not  a  young  man,  but  he  was 
lively  and  energetic.  It  could  be  easily 
seen  from  his  movements  and  his  coun- 
tenance that  he  was  not  a  Prussian.  With 
great  politeness  he  showed  me  to  my  room, 
explaining  that  it  was  now  after  breakfast 
time,  but,  if  I  wished,  they  would  serve 
me  in  the  dining-room. 

"  Do  you  come  from  San  Francisco?" 
"  Oh,  no.     From  a  farther  country." 
"  All  right.     Bound  for  the  Big  Trees, 
I  suppose?" 
"Yes,  sir." 
"  If  you  wish  to  see  the  photographs  of 


Memories  of  Mariposa.        221 

the  trees  you  will  find  them  in  the  room 
below." 

"  Very  well,  I'll  soon  come  down." 
"  Will  you  stay  long  in  Mariposa?" 
"Several  days.     I  want  to  rest,  and, 
besides,  to  see  the  neighboring  woods." 

"The  hunting  here  is  excellent.  A 
few  days  ago  they  killed  a  puma." 

"That  is  good.  I  will  take  a  nap 
now." 

"  Good-by.  Downstairs  there  is  a  reg- 
ister, in  which  you  will  please  write  your 
name." 

"Certainly,  with  pleasure.  Good-by." 
I  lay  down  and  slept  till  the  dinner  hour, 
which  was  announced  by  the  strokes  of  a 
stick  on  a  miner's  tin  pan.  I  came  down 
and  registered,  not  neglecting  to  add  after 
my  name,  "from  Poland."  Then  I  went 
to  the  dining-room.  The  trade  certainly 
was  ended  for  the  day,  and  the  traders 
dispersed  to  their  homes,  because  few 


222        Memories  of  Mariposa. 

people  sat  down  to  the  table:  two  farmers 
with  their  families,  a  man  with  but  one 
eye  and  without  a  necktie,  a  lady,  who 
was  the  schoolteacher,  and  who  probably 
lived  in  the  hotel,  and  an  old  man,  a 
squatter,  as  far  as  I  could  judge  from  his 
dress  and  bearing.  We  ate  in  silence, 
in terrnpted  only  with  short  remarks:  "I 
would  thank  you  for  the  bread,"  or  "for 
the  butter/'  or  "for  salt."  Thus  did 
those  who  sat  far  from  these  things  ask 
their  neighbors  to  help  them.  I  was  very 
tired  and  did  not  care  to  enter  into  a  con- 
versation, so  instead  I  examined  the  room, 
whose  walls,  as  Mr.  Biling  said,  were 
decorated  with  the  photographs  of  the 
gigantic  trees.  So,  then,  "the  Father  of 
the  Forest  "is  overthrown;  he  could  not 
bear  the  weight  of  the  four  thousand 
years  upon  his  back. 

Length,    four  hundred  and  fifty  feet, 
circumference,  one  hundred  and  twelve, 


Memories  of  Mariposa.        223 

feet.  Quite  a  Father!  You  can  scarcely 
believe  your  eyes  and  the  signed  names. 
The  Grizzled  Giant:  fifteen  yards  in 
diameter.  Indeed!  Even  our  Jews  would 
be  perplexed  how  to  ship  such  a  plant  to 
Dantzic.  My  heart  was  thrilled  with  the 
thought  that  soon  I  should  see,  in  reality, 
with  my  own  eyes,  this  group  of  trees,  or 
rather  colossal  towers,  standing  lonely  in 
the  woods  ....  from  the  flood. 

That  I,  a  "Warsawian,  should  see  "  the 
father,"  touch  his  bark,  and  should,  per- 
haps, take  a  piece  back  to  Warsaw  as  a 
proof  to  the  skeptics  that  I  had  been  indeed 
in  California!  A  man  who  wanders  so  far 
away  from  his  home  appears  to  himself 
strange,  and  unconsciously  is  gladdened 
with  the  thought  of  what  he  will  narrate  on 
his  return,  and  that  the  local  skeptics  will 
not  believe  that  there  are  in  the  world  trees 
fifty-six  yards  in  circumference.  My  med- 


224:        Memories  of  Mariposa. 

itations  were  interrupted  by  the  voice  of 
the  colored  servant. 

"  Will  you  have  milk  with  your  coffee, 
or  black?" 

"  Black,  as  you  are  yourself,"  I  had  an 
impulse  to  say,  but  such  an  answer  would 
have  been  improper,  because  the  old  ne- 
gro's hair  was  as  white  as  milk,  and  he 
was  so  feeble  that  he  could  scarcely  move 
his  feet. 

Shortly  the  dinner  was  ended  and  all 
arose.  The  farmer  put  some  chewing  to- 
bacco into  his  mouth,  and  his  wife,  seating 
herself  in  a  rocking-chair,  began  to  rock 
vigorously;  and  the  daughter,  the  bright 
and  vivacious  Polly  or  Kate,  went  to  the 
piano,  and  presently  I  heard: 

"  Yankee  Doodle  came  to  town." 

"You  can't  catch  me  with  Yankee 
Doodle,"  I  thought  to  myself.  From 
New  York  to  Mariposa  the  girls  had 
played  it  to  me  on  the  piano,  the  soldiers 


Memories  of  Mariposa. 

on  their  brass  instruments,  the  negroes  on 
their  banjos,  and  the  children  on  xylo- 
phones. 

I  lighted  my  cigar  and  went  out  on 
the  street.  A  slight  dusk  had  settled 
upon  the  air.  The  immigrants'  wagons 
had  departed.  It  was  still  and  charming. 
The  west  was  red  with  the  sunset,  the  east 
was  getting  dark.  I  felt  easy  and  buoy- 
ant. Life  appeared  very  pleasant,  light, 
and  free.  From  the  cottages  and  gardens 
came  to  me  the  sound  of  songs;  at  times 
among  the  bushes  there  glistened  a  white 
dress,  a  pair  of  bright  eyes.  What  a  beau- 
tiful evening!  only  it  is  to  be  regretted 
that  Americans  have  the  habit  in  the  even- 
ings of  burning  garbage  on  the  streets. 
The  smell  of  the  smoke  unnecessarily 
mixes  with  the  fragrance  of  roses  and  the 
odor  of  the  near  woods.  At  intervals, 
from  the  fields  and  thickets  adjacent  to 
the  town,  could  be  heard  the  sound  of 


226        Memories  of  Mariposa. 

shooting:  nearly  all  the  inhabitants  of 
Mariposa  are  hnnters. 

All  movement  on  the  street  had  ceased 
and  the  garbage  heaps  had  burned  out.  I 
met  several  persons,  and,  perhaps,  I  un- 
consciously transferred  to  them  something 
of  my  feeling,  for  in  the  soft  light  of  the 
sunset  all  their  faces  seemed  to  me  con- 
tented, quiet,  and  happy. 

Maybe,  I  thought,  life  is  quiet,  peace- 
ful, and  happy  here,  in  this  unknown, 
lost-in-the-woods  corner  of  the  world. 
Perhaps,  also,  in  this  American  freedom 
the  soul  becomes  bright  and  shines  with  a 
mild  light,  as  the  firefly.  Besides,  there 
is  no  cold  and  hunger  here,  and  there  is 
room  enough,  where  you  can  spread  your- 
self and  stretch  your  hands  and  feet.  And 
these  woods  are  so  peaceful,  oh,  so  peaceful! 

Several  negroes  coming  to  ward  me  sang, 
with  quite  melodious  voices,  "  The  Silver 
Threads."  "  Good-evening,  sir,"  said  they 


Memories  of  Mariposa.        227 

cheerfully,  as  they  passed  me  by.  People 
are  well  meaning  and  polite  here.  Verily, 
when  old  age  shall  come,  I  shall  look  back 
and  think  of  this  quiet  Mariposa.  From 
the  sky  there  floated  to  me  the  voices  of 
the  cranes  flying  toward  the  ocean.  This 
quiet  picture  lulled  me  and  made  me 
dream.  Strange  bundle  of  impressions ! 

I  returned  to  the  hotel,  and  in  my 
room,  filled  with  a  spirit  of  meditation 
and  of  sweet  and  touching  emotions,  I  be- 
gan to  think  of  home  and  my  dear  ones, 
and  started  to  sing. 

Some  one  knocked  at  the  door. 

"  I  wonder  who  it  can  be?"  thought  I. 

"  Come  in/'  I  said. 

Whereupon  the  proprietor  entered. 
"What  is  it?  "What  kind  of  country  is 
this?  His  face  showed  signs  of  great 
emotion.  He  grasped  my  hand  warmly 
and  squeezed  it  tightly,  and,  without  let- 
ting it  go,  stepped  back  to  his  arm's 


Memories  of  Mariposa. 

length  and  looked  at  me  as  if  he  wished 
to  bless  me. 

I  opened  my  lips,  and  my  astonishment 
equaled  his  fervency. 

"  I  saw  in  the  hotel  register,"  said  he, 
' '  that  yon  are  from  Poland/' 

"  It  is  so — are  you  also  a  Pole?" 

"  Oh,  no.     I  am  from  Baden." 

"Then  you  were  in  Poland?" 

"Oh,  no — never!" 

"Then?" 

My  eyes  were  as  wide  open  as  my  lips. 

"  Sir,"  said  the  proprietor,  "  I  was  in 
the  army  under  Mieroslawski." 

"Is  that  so?" 

"  He  was  a  hero.  He  was  the  greatest 
general  in  the  world.  Does  he  live  yet?" 

"No,  he  is  dead." 

"Dead!"  echoed  the  German,  and,  sit- 
ting down,  dropped  his  hands  heavily  on 
his  knees  and  his  head  on  his  breast. 

I  did  not  know  what  to  do.     I  did  not 


Memories  of  Mariposa.        229 

share  the  enthusiasm  of  Mr.  Biling  for 
Mieroslawski,  but  at  this  time  and  in  this 
place  this  enthusiasm  was  dear  to  and 
flattered  me.  Mr.  Biling  conquered  his 
sorrow,  and  his  eloquent  admiration  of 
Mieroslawski  streamed  like  a  waterfall  in 
comparison  to  which  Niagara  or  Yosemite 
Falls  are  nothing.  Soon  I  heard  the  names 
of  several  heroes  of  antiquity,  several  from 
the  middle  ages,  then  those  of  "Washing- 
ton, Lafayette,  Kosciusko,  and  Mieros- 
lawski. Then  I  heard  such  expressions  as 
these:  "  Liberty,  progress,  civilization. " 
I  heard  hundreds  and  thousands  of  these 
words.  The  eloquent  general  had,  evi- 
dently, eloquent  soldiers. 

"He  was  an  ideal  man,"  in  the  end  my 
landlord  exclaimed. 

"  He  was,  or  he  was  not — let  us  omit 
the  question,"  I  thought  to  myself,  "  but  it 
is  a  fact,  that  if  you,  a  typical  German,  pos- 
sess an  ideal,  you  are  indebted  for  it  to  a 


230        Memories  of  Mariposa. 

Pole,  and  if  to  him,  ergo,  why  not  to  us? 
Your  thoughts,  perhaps,  never  would  have 
risen  above  the  dollars  and  the  profits  of 
your  hotel ;  you  would  have  tried  only  to 
entice  the  tourists  going  to  the  'Big 
Trees/  and  bow  and  scrape  to  them  as  you 
did  to  me;  and  now  a  higher  spirit  per- 
vades you,  and  you  utter  words  which  be- 
came long  ago  in  Europe  as  stale  as  old 
beer,  but  which  have  never  ceased  to  be  the 
most  noble  words  that  the  human  tongue 
can  pronounce.  In  Europe  there  is,  per- 
haps, only  one  corner  where  they  are  yet 
taken  seriously — sometimes  spoken  with  a 
tear  and  sometimes  with  pain,  that  others 
desecrate  these  treasures  or  whistle  upon 
them,  as  upon  a  hollow  nut.  But  it  is 
difficult,  even  in  that  corner,  sometimes — 
it  is  difficult — oh,  so  difficult!  What  an 
honest  fellow  this  German  is!  Neither 
Sadowa  nor  Sedan  impresses  him,  and  he 
only  mentions  Mieroslawski  and  Baden. 


Memories  of  Mariposa.        231 

Biling*s  Hotel,  Mariposa,  California.  It 
is  well  to  note  the  address  of  such  a  Ger- 
man, but  it  is  necessary  to  go  as  far  as 
Mariposa  to  meet  him." 

He  kept  repeating,  "Oh,  this  Mie- 
roslawski!"  Surely  he  wiped  his  eyes.  A 
golden  soul! 

"  Seeing  yon  makes  me  feel  as  good  as  if 
I  had  taken  a  drink  of  whisky  with  ginger 
in  it,"  he  said  to  me.  He  grasped  my 
hand,  squeezed  it  again,  and  started  toward 
the  door;  near  to  the  door,  he  struck  his 
hand  to  his  forehead  with  a  loud  slap. 

"  Oh,"  he  said,  "  I  had  nearly  forgot- 
ten— there  is  a  countryman  of  yours  here." 

"  In  Mariposa?" 

"  No,  he  lives  in  the  woods;  on  Fridays 
he  comes  to  the  market  with  his  honey 
and  remains  over  night.  A  very  good  old 
man.  He  has  been  here  more  than  twenty 
year?.  No  one  was  here  when  he  came. 
To-morrow  I  will  bring  him  to  you." 


232        Memories  of  Mariposa. 

"What  is  his  name?" 

The  German  stopped  and  began  to 
scratch  his  head,  like  any  Polish  bartek 
(peasant). 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know;  something  very 
difficult/' 

Next  morning,  just  after  rising  and  be- 
fore breakfast,  my  German  friend  brought 
my  countryman  to  me. 

He  was  of  great  stature,  quite  tall,  and 
somewhat  bent.  He  had  a  white  head, 
white  beard,  and  blue  eyes,  which  he  fixed 
on  me  with  a  strange  intentness. 

"I  will  leave  you  gentlemen  alone," 
said  the  German. 

We  were  left  alone  and  looked  at  each 
other  a  long  time  in  silence.  I  felt  some- 
what confused  seeing  the  old  man,  who 
reminded  me  more  of  Wernyhora  (the  cele- 
brated prophet-singer  of  the  Cossacks), 
than  of  an  average  countryman  of  mine. 

"  I  am  called  Putrament,"  said  the  old 


Memories  of  Mariposa.        233 

man;  "doth  my  name  sound  strange  to 
thine  ears?" 

"My  name  is  M.,"  I  replied.  "Yours 
is  familiar  to  me;  I  think  you  are  from 
Lithuania?" 

Something  indeed  came  to  my  mind 
from  the  poem,  "  Pan  Taddheus,"  about  a 
story  of  "Putrament  with  a  picture/' 
where  Protazy  speaks  of  different  law- 
suits. 

The  old  man  raised  his  hand  to  his 
ear. 

"Eh?"  said  he. 

"I  suppose  you  are  from  Lithuania?" 

"  Lift  thy  voice,  for  old  age  has  spoiled 
my  ears,  and  deaf  is  this  old  age  of  mine," 
he  said. 

"Does  he  mock  me  or  am  I  a  fool?" 
thought  I  to  myself,  but  somehow  this 
man  speaks  with  the  language  of  the 
prophets;  what  eccentric  people  I  meet 
here! 


234:        Memories  of  Mariposa. 

"  You  came  here  long  ago  from  our 
country?"  I  inquired. 

"  Twenty  years  abide  I  here,  and  verily 
thou  art  the  first  whom  I  see  from  my 
native  land,  and,  because  of  that,  moved 
is  my  heart,  and  my  soul  rejoices  within 
me." 

Indeed,  the  old  man  spoke  with  a  trem- 
bling voice,  and  was  very  much  affected. 
I  was  surprised.  I  had  not  been  sitting 
twenty  years  in  the  woods,  and  I  had  met 
Poles  not  long  ago  in  San  Francisco,  so  I 
had  no  cause  to  be  emotional.  Instead,  I  felt 
some  desire  to  exclaim:  "What  a  style!" 
If  somebody  would  keep  on  speaking  to 
me  in  that  manner  the  whole  day  I  would 
become  wild.  The  old  man  still  kept 
looking  at  me  intently,  and  his  mind 
seemed  to  be  busy.  Several  times  he  at- 
tempted to  speak  and  then  stopped 
abruptly.  It  was  evident  that  he  felt  that 
he  did  not  express  his  thoughts  as  others 


Memories  of  Mariposa.        235 

do.  He  spoke,  nevertheless,  very  cor- 
rectly, but  with  difficulty. 

"In  this  far  country  my  tongue  has 
stiffened  and  my  jaws  are  bound." 

"  The  truth  is  no  sin,"  I  thought,  but 
my  mirth  was  leaving  me;  I  felt  somewhat 
awkward,  and  my  conscience  pricked  me. 

"As  he  speaks,  so  let  him  speak,"  I 
thought,  "  for  he  speaks  with  great  feel- 
ing, deep  sadness,  and  sincerely;  it  is  I 
who  mock  him." 

Involuntarily  I  stretched  out  both  my 
hands  to  him.  He  took  them,  and  pressed 
them  to  his  breast,  repeating: 

"A  countryman!  a  countryman!" 

His  voice  vibrated  with  so  strong  an 
emotion  that  it  touched  my  heart. 

In  any  event  I  had  before  me  a  strange 
puzzle,  and,  perhaps,  a  very  sad  one.  I 
began  to  look  upon  him  as  if  upon  an  old 
father.  I  seated  him  with  reverence  upon 


236        Memories  of  Mariposa. 

the  chair  and  sat  beside  him  while  he  kept 
continually  looking  at  me. 

"  "What  is  heard  in  our  land?" said  he. 

I  set  my  tongue  in  motion,  trying  to 
speak  loudly  and  distinctly.  In  this 
manner  I  spoke  half  an  hour,  and  to  the 
measure  of  my  words  his  head  bowed  sadly, 
or  the  smile  came  to  his  lips.  He  re- 
peated once  more  the  sentence  of  Galileo, 
and  often  questioned  me,  and  always  with 
the  same  grave,  strange  and  unexplainable 
style. 

Everything  I  said  interested  him  im- 
mensely. All  his  soul  gathered  in  his 
eyes  and  lips.  Living  alone  among  the 
woods,  perhaps  at  another  time  he  would 
meditate  for  whole  days  upon  that  which 
now  streamed  from  my  lips. 

Oh!  wonderful  old  man!  and  wonderful 
race  of  men,  who  takest  with  thee  to  the 
farthest  corners  of  the  world  one  thought 
and  one  feeling.  Thou  livest  with  it  in  the 


Memories  of  Mariposa.        237 

woods,  in  the  desert,  and  over  the  seas; 
thy  body  floats  away,  bat  thou  canst  not 
shake  off  thy  soul,  and  walkest  as  strayed 
sheep  among  a  strange  people.  But  this 
race  dies  slowly.  I  will  now  tell  you  about 
one  of  its  last  representatives. 

This  narrative  may  seem  to  be  an  in- 
vention— but  it  is  in  truth  a  reality — 
Putrament  perhaps  yet  lives  in  his  forest 
retreat  in  the  vicinity  of  Mariposa.  From 
his  statement  I  found  out  what  follows. 

He  was  a  beekeeper,  as  are  a  majority 
of  the  squatters.  He  was  not  very  poor. 
The  bees  worked  for  his  living.  When  he 
got  old  he  took  a  young  Indian  to  assist 
him  to  attend  to  them.  He  went  hunting 
every  day.  There  is  plenty  of  game  in  the 
woods  near  Mariposa — deer,  antelope, 
and  an  inexhaustible  quantity  of  every  j 
kind  of  fowl. 

The  bears  are  now  more  rare. 

His  caflon  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful 


238        Memories  of  Mariposa. 

in  the  vicinity.  Near  to  the  house  is  an 
enchanting  stream  falling  in  thousands  of 
cascades;  the  place  consists  chiefly  of 
rocks  and  mountains,  and  upon  them 
forests,  and  again  impenetrable  forests — 
silence,  peace. 

He  invited  me  urgently  to  visit  him, 
but  as  I  could  not  get  back  until  the  fol- 
lowing Friday,  I  had  to  decline  his  invi- 
tation with  regret. 

He  spoke  as  some  Abraham  or  Jacob. 
The  words  "yea,  verily,  furthermore, 
thence,  wherewith,  thee  and  thou,  say- 
est,"  were  repeated  every  moment  by  him. 
Sometimes  it  seemed  as  if  I  had  before  me 
a  man  from  the  time  of  Gornicki  or 
Skarga,  who  had  traveled  under  the 
ground  to  Mariposa,  and  arose  here  from 
the  dead ;  or  who  began  to  live  simul- 
taneously with  the  Big  Trees.  But, 
besides  this  ancient  form  of  language,  there 
was  also  in  his  speech  a  strange  solemnity 


Memories  of  Mariposa.        239 

expressed  in  the  construction  of  his 
phrases,  by  the  multitude  of  pleonasms, 
by  certain  special  definitions.  I  decided 
to  solve  the  puzzle. 

"  Tell  me,  my  dear  sir,  what  is  the 
origin  of  this  language  of  yours?  It  is 
not  a  modern  speech,"  but  an  old  one — 
nobody  now  speaks  so  in  Poland. " 

lie  smiled. 

"  I  have  only  one  book  at  home — the 
Bible — edited  by  Wujek,  which  I  read 
every  day,  so  that  I  would  not  forget  my 
native  speech,  and  did  not  become  deaf  in 
the  language  of  my  fathers/' 

Now  I  understood  it  all.  For  twenty 
years  in  this  far-off  Mariposa  he  had  not 
seen  a  single  Pole,  did  not  speak  with  one. 
He  read  the  Bible  only,  and  no  wonder 
that  his  words  and  even  his  thoughts  con- 
formed themselves  to  it.  He  did  not 
know  how  to  speak  Polish  otherwise, 
neither  could  he  learn  now.  He  did  not 


240        Memories  of  Mariposa. 

wish  to  forget  his  native  tongue  for  any- 
thing in  the  world,  so  he  used  to  read  his 
Bible  every  morning.  Besides,  nothing 
reached  him  from  his  native  land — noth- 
ing from  anywhere — only  the  voices  of 
the  California  forests  may  have  reminded 
him  of  the  forests  of  Lithuania. 

At  our  parting  I  said: 

"In  a  month  I  return  home.  Have 
you  any  relatives — a  brother,  or  anybody — 
to  whom  you  wish  to  send  news  of  your- 
self?" 

He  sank  into  deep  thought,  as  if 
searching  in  his  memory  for  some  rela- 
tives, then  began  to  shake  his  head. 

"  None — none — none." 

And  yet  this  old  man  was  reading  the 
Bible  of  the  Wujek  edition,  and  did  not 
want  to  forget. 

At  last  we  said  "Good-by." 

"  Lord  protect  and  lead  thee,"  said  he 
to  me,  as  a  blessing  for  my  journey. 


Memories  of  Mariposa. 

He  at  once  rode  to  the  forest.  And  I, 
two  days  later,  to  the  "  Big  Trees."  When 
I  was  entering  the  stagecoach  Mr.  Biling 
shook  my  hand,  as  if  he  desired  to  keep  it 
for  a  souvenir,  and  repeated: 

"  Mieroslawski  was  a  great  man.  Good- 
by  !  Good-by  !  Selir  grosser  mann  !" 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  the  forests 
of  Mariposa  surrounded  me.  Next  day, 
early  in  the  morning,  I  thought  to  myself: 
"  Old  Putrament  at  this  time  is  reading 
his  Bible  aloud  in  the  canon," 


THE    ENIX 


I2tno,  cloth,  $1.25 

An  Unofficial  Patriot 

By  HELEN  H.   GARDENER 

"  It  is  a  side  of  the  slavery  question  of  which  North- 
ern people  knew  nothing. '''—John  A.  Cockerill,  N.  Y. 
Advertiser. 

"  Strong  and  picturesque  sketches  of  camp  and  field 
in  the  days  of  the  Civil  War." — San  Francisco  Chron. 
icle. 

"The  book  is  being  dramatized  by  Mr.  James  A. 
Herne,  the  well-known  actor,  author  and  manager." — 
N.  Y.  Press. 

"  It  tells  a  splendid  story."— -Journal,  Columbus,  O 

"  Will  be  sure  to  attract  the  attention  it  deserves." 
— Philadelphia  Press. 

"  In  its  scope  and  power  it  is  unrivalled  among  war 
stories." — Ideas,  Boston,  Mass. 

"In  many  ways  the  most  remarkable  histories,' 
novel  of  the  Civil  War." — Home  Journal,Boston, Mass. 

"  The  interview  with  Lincoln  is  one  of  the  finest  bits 
of  dialogue  in  a  modern  book." — Chicago  Herald. 

"  Will  probably  be  the  most  popular  and  saleable 
novel  since  Robert  Elsmere." — Republican. 

"  One  of  the  most  instructive  and  fascinating  writers 
of  our  time." — Courier -Journal,  Louisville. 

"Is  calculated  to  command  as  wide  attention  as 
Judge  TourgeVs  "Fool's  Errand."— TV.  Y.  Evening 
Telegram. 

"Has  enriched  American  literature." — Item,  Phila- 
delphia. 

'  'Remarkably  true  to  history.  ''''-Inter-Ocean,  Chicago 
"  Entitled  to  a  place  with  standard  histories  of  the 
War. " — Atlanta  journal. 


NEW  YORK:  R.  F.  FENNO  &  COMPANY 


izmo,  cloth,  ornamental,  $1.25 

The   Queerest  Man  Alive 

By  REV.  GEORGE  H.  HEPWORTH. 

"This  writer  pleases  his  many  readers  with  a 
thoroughly  optimistic  outlook  upon  life,  and  in  all 
these  six  bright  stories  is  that  quality  to  be  found 
uppermost.  One  has  only  to  read  the  first,  to  be 
willing  to  be"  enticed  into  a  perusal  of  all  of  them, 
and  he  will  be  happy  to  declare  that  the  time  given 
was  by  no  means  wasted." — Boston  Courier. 

"The  author  has  already  secured  an  enviable 
reputation,  and  this  in  itself  is  an  assurance  that 
this,  his  latest  book,  is  not  the  careless  work  of  a 
tyro,  but  the  finished  production  of  a  trained  and 
thoughtful  writer." — New  York  Herald. 

"These  stories  are  home-like,  of  the  home  and 
its  environs,  and  will  be  found  very  cheerful  read- 
ing for  all  who  do  not  long  for  the  sensational, 
trashy  literature  of  the  day." — The  Bookseller. 

"  In  his  varied  experience  as  a  clergyman,  litter- 
ateur, traveller,  and  journalist,  Mr.  Hepworth  has 
a  wide  experience,  and  from  his  storehouse  has 
gathered  material  for  this  pleasing  work." — Boston 
Times. 

"  Mr.  Hepworth  is  a  past  master  in  the  art  of 
adorning  a  tale  with  the  verbal  habilaments  of 
'  so-ness  '." — Detroit  Journal. 


NEW  YORK. 

R.  F.  FENNO  &  COMPANY 


A    DAUGHTER    OF 
THE   PHILISTINES 

By  LEONARD  MERRJCK 

"  It  is  the  kind  one  longs  to  find  after  trying 
many  and  not  meeting  satisfaction.1" — Times 
Union,  Albany. 

"  A  constantly  increasing  pleasure  as  you  peruse 
page  after  page." — Evening  Gazette ;  Boston. 

"  It  is  a  good  one  and  an  interesting  one." — Buf- 
falo Express. 

"A  noteworthy  novel." — Chicago  Tribune. 

"  He  works  out  the  situation  to  a  fortunate  con- 
clusion."— Book  Buyer. 

"  A  distinctly  good  novel  of  real  life." — Itosion 
Times. 

"  A  capital  story." — New  York  Pre&. 

"  It  is  a  novel  of  more  than  usual  interest  .ind 
cannot  fail  of  an  abundant  popularity." — An/iyand 
Navy  Journal. 

"A  delightful  story." — Cincinnati  Enquirer. 

11  Has  a  quality  of  its  own." — Literary  World. 

"  Unusually  strong  points.  "-Buffalo  Commercial 

"An  extremely  clever  story." — Albany  Argus. 

"Interesting  creation." — Louisville  Times. 

"  With  a  feeling  of  loving  regret  I  lay  down  the 
book." — Evening  Record. 

"  An  interesting  and  well  told  tale." — Evening 
Star,  Washington. 

"An  extremely  clever  tale." — ludianapolis Sen- 
Hnel. 

"More  than  usually  interesting." — News,  In- 
dianapolis. 

"  An  excellent  story  well  told." — Rochester 
Herald. 

"  Starts  upon  a  good  literary  level,  and  maintains 
it  to  the  end,  and  never  for  a  moment  degen- 
erates  One  sits  through  the  story  with  gen- 
uine pleasure,  and  rises  from  the  reading  of  it  with 
indubitable  refreshment." — Daily  Chronicle. 

izmo,  cloth,  $1.15 

NBW  YORK:  R.  F.  FENNO  &  COMPANY 


DC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL JLIBfWR_Y_FACjLITY  _ 


A     001  005411     2 


